


The Convict & The Loyalist

by sabotage



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, Rivalmance, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8174543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabotage/pseuds/sabotage
Summary: Jack and Miranda search for common ground but first they must set aside their differences for the sake of the mission.





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Chapter 1**

A/N: My first ME story! Thanks to my ME fic hero th1nm1nt for proofing this for me. Beware, lots of copious swearing ahead. This will be a very M rated story for various reasons. th1nm1nt's suggestions for a title for this story "Biotic bitches in Heat" and "Jack and Miri make a porno" were heavily considered but eventually declined since I'm priss. Though both titles are close to appropriate for upcoming chapters. Because there's going to be sex.

A/N 2: Another blast from the past from my The Subverter account on fanfiction.net. This was my first Mass Effect story. Near seven years old and I barely remember what the summary was. When I look back on it, there are definitely things that are problematic and I would change but overall, I don't think it's horrible (a ringing endorsement, I'm sure). The two follow ups to this were much smuttier and people seemed to like them so maybe I'll eventually post them as well despite feeling EH about them.

* * *

 

Jack can't remember when she began hating people. It was probably in the fucking Cerberus facility but even that didn't start right away. She remembers pain and screaming. Being scared. There's probably other fucked up shit she can't remember either. She remembers medication that made her limbs and face numb; that helped after fights in the arena. But there was the other shit, too. The pills and injections that made her mind go empty, back when blood on her face used to bother her. It made it quiet. She couldn't hear those other little brats running around, ignoring her—she couldn't hear her own pathetic screams.

Why wouldn't they fucking look at her?

She remembers tearing her fingernails back, trying to claw herself out of her goddamn steel cage of a room. What a stupid little shit she had been. Desperation is a funny thing, it either breaks you into nothing or it makes you a monster. Yeah.

But she got out.

Ran with some Batarians and other assholes that used her just like everybody else before selling her off as a slave. They're all the same. If they're talking to you, they want something, if they're smiling at you, they're really going to fuck you. But she won't let them. She'll fuck them first—and then kill them. They're both a high but she prefers the second.

She's been sleeping so goddamn long. Longer, even, than before they put her in the tube for cryo stasis. Sometimes she can't figure when she's alive or not. But usually pain is involved. People say that shit but they don't really know. They have fucking ideas they get from books or vids, or maybe it's just shit they make up. Everyone wants to be a bad ass but they don't have the guts to learn it the hard way. Not that any of it was her fucking choice, but hey, you reap what you sow and she's planning on payback.

When her cell at Purgatory comes open she doesn't know what the hell is going on. How long has she been under? She opens her eyes—she's fucking chained,  _again._ Her arms, her neck, tied like a dog, like some bitch. People always think she's a bitch.

White hot rage pulses through her veins, nearly ripping her apart the way she had to open those kids and guards up back in the Teltin facility in Pragia, the way she did on this fucking prison ship. Goddamn guards and prisoners, pussies with guns and numbers instead of dicks, cheerfully raping away at her. Well, she got them all. She'll get all the motherfuckers. She broke out when she was a kid. She can break out of this fucked up prison. Once she's done, she'll blow the motherfucker sky high.

She tears the constraints away and leaps through the cell. Her head hurts. Sometimes it feels like there's too much shit going on in her head, too many thoughts, maybe too much of that biotic power stabbing into her head. She wants some meds but not now. She wants to be clearheaded for this shit. She's been given a chance, and even a tiny chance is better than nothing.

There are three massive YMIR mechs. Nothing, butter, fucking steel and robots won't shut her down. She destroys them. Euphoria floods through her. It's kind of fucked up how fighting makes her wet. What the hell did those people in the lab do to her? This shit isn't normal. Least, she doesn't figure it is.

Whatever. She's out. Time to kill them all.

* * *

Miranda is unimpressed.

Subject Zero is clearly a maniac. She moves like an animal, pacing relentlessly, grunting and snarling. Miranda half expects the woman (biologically) to start barking. She sighs inwardly as she, Shepard and Jacob approach the convict. This is going to be fun.

Upon close inspection she looks more like a terrorist than Miranda had expected she would. Her pants are too loose and her shirt is too tight—it's only a moment later that Miranda realizes that the only cover Subject Zero has on her frame, besides the extensive tattoos, are too tight leather straps that barely cover her nipples. Looks uncomfortable. The only hint of Subject Zero's real flesh tone is on her face. She has a way of looking feral and dead all in one. Whatever her family may have been on Eden Prime, Subject Zero is volatile, foul-mouthed and clearly dangerous.

She doesn't often question the Illusive Man's decisions, but this creature in front of her, not even a person, really, is pushing it. There's a twinge of conscience that bristles at the thought. She knows she doesn't have much room to talk; she was bred, just the same, as the younger woman before her.

Except that Subject Zero had had a mother that by all accounts had loved her. It's all in the records, some of which Shepard has agreed to give her. Goddamn it, Shepard. She would have to speak with the Illusive Man. Shepard has authority on the Normandy but in certain situations Miranda is allowed to override her. This is surely one of those times but the mission comes first. Let Subject Zero have the files; there's little she can do with them anyway. She's just an angry little girl, a fierce biotic to be sure, but too stupid to cause Cerberus any real damage.

Miranda smirks when Subject Zero refers to her as a Cerberus cheerleader. Bitch.

After doing the women's equivalent of dick measuring with Shepard, Jack comes willingly. A shame, Miranda thinks. She would have enjoyed knocking her unconscious.

* * *

There isn't much that's beautiful but Jack can appreciate a good blood splatter; some of that shit rivals the stuff rich assholes go to museums to admire. But the Normandy's cool. She wants to steal it. It's flashy as hell. She fucking hates that it's a Cerberus ship but it's smooth, a tin coffin with a crew that's smart enough to stay the fuck away from her.

She picks out her spot in the recesses of engineering. She likes to listen to the sound of the engines. It's a low hum, more of a subtle vibration than anything else, but it's isolated and out of the way. She's got a cot and a table. Things to slip under. It's fucked how so many years later she's still thinking like she did when she was some messed up kid. She's a psycho now and people know better than to mess with her. Why is that shit so hard to let go of?

Whatever, she got out of Purgatory and if she has to kill some Collector ass before she can move on her merry fucking way then so be it. She sits on the cot and reclines against the wall. A lot of people would find it uncomfortable but shit, it's clean and it's her space. She just hopes the crew keeps keeping away from her. Especially fucking Lawson. She doesn't trust the bitch. She doesn't trust any of the assholes on board. She may kill people but she's up front about it. These shady fuckers messed with her, just some stupid kid so they could see what they could make of her. Who the fuck does that?

The thoughts bug her. Why think them? Like, somehow she expects people to be better than they are? She doesn't have any expectations. She picks up a PDA and flicks it on. At least Shepard had kept her word and given her access. Time to start fucking learning about herself.

* * *

Miranda requests a meeting with the Illusive Man after Jack nearly blows her up with a wave of biotic power in their last mission. Miranda had deftly sidestepped the attack but had not escaped unscathed; she was blasted back along with a mass of mangled crates and rock debris.

She hadn't let Jack's act of aggression go unchecked. "What the hell are you doing, Jack?" she'd demanded, rising to her feet, gun pointed to blow the head off a LOKI mech creeping up behind Jack. The head popped off but neither woman paid attention to it. Miranda kept a hand to her ribs, feeling the slow throb begin. Her gun arm hadn't wavered. She only needed one bullet.

Jack grinned. "Whoops, guess my aim slipped. Sorry, Cerberus Bitch."

Miranda glared at Shepard who only shrugged at her and kept moving forward. Sometimes Miranda suspects that Shepard thinks she can save the galaxy on her own and damn everyone else. She knew she should have implanted her with a chip.

Once onboard the Normandy she reported to Chakwas who bandaged her fractured rib cage. The recovery will be smooth and quick but that's beside the point. Jack is dangerous and shows no signs of remorse—qualities typically equated with Cerberus, qualities she herself shares—but at least she doesn't turn her weapons on her allies. Well… there was Wilson and some others but they hardly count.

EDI alerts her when the Illusive Man is ready to see her and Miranda makes her way to the second floor, giving curt nods to those that call to her but not bothering to stop and talk to them. There isn't any time for pleasantries. The automatic door to the communication room hisses open and she steps inside. The large rectangular table sinks and soon all the cold, barren steel of the room is replaced by a large open space. Galaxies and planets burn in the distance. The Illusive Man has a flair for style that borders on flamboyant.

"I got your last mission report," he is seated, one leg crossed over the other. "I know why you're here but my decision overrides yours as does Commander Shepard's. The existence of humanity is at stake. We cannot risk losing Jack merely because you've had… a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding? She nearly killed me. An accident my ass. We've got me and Jacob." Her implication is clear—there is no need for another biotic on the Normandy and if there is—it doesn't have to be Jack. There are other biotics they have dossiers for.

"Your biotics are good, Miranda, but hers are better."

Miranda crosses her arms vexedly. Cerberus may have protected her from her father and given her a dream project but it doesn't mean she isn't allowed to have an opinion. "She's reckless and doesn't follow orders. It doesn't matter what raw biotic power you have if you don't know how to use it."

"You saw with your own eyes on Purgatory that she knows how to use it. I understand your concern but this isn't up for discussion, Miranda. She earned those powers through blood, sweat and tears." He takes a slow drag on his cigarette, exhaling slowly. "They weren't just handed to her."

Miranda doesn't flinch, doesn't ask if the words were meant to be a dig. Her jaw is tight with a near bone crushing tension. "Very well," she says logging out.

* * *

Jack is lying back on the cot, arms folded behind her head when she recognizes the weighty clank of Shepard's footsteps. Great. What the hell does she want? She's tired of the chatty commander. It's her job to kill shit in battle, not have heart to hearts with the psychologist wannabe Shepard.

"What do you want?" Jack asks when the steps stop at the base of the stairs. She doesn't bother sitting up or opening her eyes. "I'm not in the mood to talk."

"That's too bad. You don't want me coming down here, Jack? Watch your step. Pull that crap again with Miranda like you did on Korar and—"

"And what, Shep?" Jack springs to a sitting position, squatting on the cot, resting her arms on her knees. "You'll kick me off the ship? Go ahead. I don't want to be here." She spits to the side. "I fucking knew the cheerleader would go running to you; she's too shit-scared to come down here herself. Fine with me. I wanna tear hear face off."

"Why are you so angry, Jack?"

"Hey! Go fuck yourself. I'm not here to tell you my life story. Don't know it, really," she jumps off the cot and scoops up some of the PDAs, "but I'm trying to find out. Either way, it's none of your business. You tell me to kill, I kill. You tell me to walk, I'm gone. I've got better shit to do."

"Don't you care about humanity?" There it goes again. That soft, caring tone. It pisses Jack off. She feels better about it when Shepard's being a bitch about things. At least that's up front. She doesn't trust anyone that's nice. They always have an angle.

"Like humanity ever cared about me. No one really thinks I'm one of them. Not really." She rubs her fingers along the top of her head. No point in growing the hair out. Anyway, it scares people, like a girl with a shaved head can't be any good or can't be right in the head. In her case, both theories are right on the money. "So why should I give a fuck about saving them? Give me some creds and some meds and I'm good." She tucks the PDAs under her pillow and is irritated at having done so in front of Shepard. She throws herself back on the cot as if none of it really matters anyway. "So we done here with the little pep talk? I'm fucking bored."

Shepard's voice goes hard, "Jack—"

"Hey chill. You don't want me to kill the bitch, I won't. But come on, you gotta admit seeing her fly like a fucking rag doll was pretty funny. Someone needs to knock her down on her ass once in a while."

Shepard smirks. "As long as we're clear."

And then she mercifully goes away.

* * *

Miranda literally lives in her office. The large bed behind her is appreciated but seldom used. There's a lot of work to do and fortunately (or unfortunately as she sometimes sees it) she's advanced enough to be able to forego the mass levels of sleep requisite of other humans. It allows her more time to work; those who have competed against her in the past have been at an unfair disadvantage but if she's got the tools she'll use them. There's no point in lowering her capabilities to appease others. Shepard has done well enough, hasn't she, despite being 'ordinary' and somewhat rash to action.

Miranda knows better than to question the Illusive Man. She may not always understand him but she knows that he only has the best interests of humanity in mind. Sometimes those interests come at the price of unsavory methods. Those who don't understand it are merely blinded by old hatred of Cerberus history. Those people (or aliens) don't realize what's at stake. She'll do anything for the mission to succeed.

It doesn't always mean that she'll agree with The Illusive Man. Miranda still maintains that he should have allowed her to put a mind control chip in Shepard. She may be the hero of humanity but no mistakes can be afforded. If she blows herself up again, along with the rest of Cerberus, there will be no one to put her back together again and humanity, as well as the rest of the universe, is doomed.

It was a bad idea to give Jack those files; Shepard should have known better. All it will do is cause trouble in the end. Miranda flicks her wrist and calls up a camera feed of the engineering room on her monitor. The dank hole is no worse than Jack deserves. She shouldn't even be on the ship; she's clearly a lunatic.

Jack rests against the wall, sitting in her uncomfortable small cot, drinking in the files. Her expression is blank. Miranda knows what she's reading but can't read her take on it. She'll keep an eye on the situation. Someone has to. Anyway, it's her job.

* * *

Jack never knows why Shepard drags them where she does. Fucking men's bathroom? Is she that hard up for cock? Maybe she shouldn't act so much like a dyke. Maybe pick up on how Jacob rises to attention whenever she walks into a room, something. Bathroom's dark, cool lights, cold everything.

Jack's not into sob stories. What she says to Shepard in the Dark Star Lounge bathroom is really an aside. Fuck pity parties. Who cares what those guys did to her—she got even-steven, didn't she? Seven attackers, seven dead assholes. That's more than most rape victims can say. But Jack sees how their eyes catch in the mirrors of the bathroom, sees that pitying look even on the bitch Miranda's face.

She rips her gaze away. She isn't a goddamn victim. Fuck them. Her own reflection in the mirror startles her. For a moment she doesn't recognize herself, eyes all big, looking young and afraid. Her fingers roll into a fist and biotic power pulses, as if to the beat of the heavy bass tones that play in the bar.

The three square mirrors above the sink shatter, crumbling to pieces and crashing to the floor and sink.

There's a moment of silence.

"Bit much?" Miranda eventually asks. "Cerberus won't reimburse you for this. Control your temper."

The turian who's been taking a piss at the urinal looks at the three women and jumps, only then noticing them. Jack takes a step toward him. "What the fuck are you looking at!"

The turian pisses himself. Jack tsks in disgust.

Shepard asks if she's okay, eliciting a glare from Jack. "What the fuck are we doing here? Quit wasting my time!" she stomps out of the bathroom and looks at the group of women, Asari and human, dancing. She wants to tear them all apart. She wants to blow the place to smithereens. She begins to calm, the anger is soothing; it's normal. It's better than those other feelings.

The pounding music rattles her heart. It's too fucking loud here. The music is pissing her off. There's enough shit going on in her head without all of this noise on top of it. She stops at the bar and orders three drinks to start. "Fuck off and do what you gotta do." She tells Shepard. "I'll be on the Normandy when you're done." She takes three shots in quick succession and orders another three. The turian bartender knows better than to question her.

"In case you've forgotten," Miranda begins sharply, "Shepard gives the orders."

"It's all right, Miranda," Shepard says coolly, her husky voice is condescending. "We don't need her anyway." Jack feels their stares burning at the back of her head. "You'd better be ready when it's time."

They leave. Jack drinks.

* * *

Jack reeks of liquor. It oozes from the pores of the emaciated woman. She is wiry and angular but she can hold her alcohol well. Her eyes are no less clear than usual and aside from the smell Miranda can detect no other irregularities. Miranda makes a mental note of it as the woman comes aboard the ship, somewhat petulantly. The doors of the Normandy close behind Jack who pushes past Miranda, colliding purposefully with her shoulder. Miranda narrows her eyebrows and follows after her, stepping into the elevator before the doors close.

Jack is motionless. Miranda observes her as the elevator begins its descent. There is a soft whirring and Miranda glances at the numbers as the elevator goes further down. The elevator is roomy but today it feels slightly claustrophobic. Maybe it's because Jack smells. "I've forwarded the appropriate credits to the Citadel for the mess you created. They were taken from your personal account, of course."

"Whatever."

Miranda is a strong believer in science, in evidence but she knows that people are more complicated than data. In the Dark Star Lounge Miranda had thought she'd seen something more in Jack than a raving lunatic. Jack's past is troubled in more overt ways than Miranda's own. She speaks despite herself. "Whatever your past you should forget it and move on."

"Easy for you to say. You'd just love for me to forget what Cerberus did. Mind your own business, bitch." Jack slams her fist into the bright red emergency button of the elevator and steps out onto the third floor. She's disappeared by the time Miranda is out of the elevator. At least she got to where she was going.

Joker's voice comes on over the PA. "Everything cool, Miranda? Registered an emergency signal in the elevator with you and Jack."

"Everything's fine, Joker."

"A system scan reveals no irregularities," EDI announces.

"No one asked you," Joker snaps at EDI. Miranda can almost see him turning his head to the holographic representation of the AI before talking to Miranda again. "I'm just glad one of you isn't smeared on the walls. Hope I haven't interrupted anything," he says, the grin in his voice evident.

Miranda rolls her eyes. Joker's a clown but Shepard has an attachment to him. She's too fixated on her past, no matter how she tries to pretend otherwise. If she continues her unwarranted faith in the Alliance and the distrust of Cerberus, Miranda doesn't know how well things will fare. Miranda only hopes that Shepard's history won't distract her from the mission at hand. "We don't pay you to make poor jokes, Joker. Get to work."

"Yes, Ma'am," he chokes before the comm. goes dead. Idiot.

* * *

Jack hears shit. Kelly likes to run her mouth; she's a freak. Joker's a dumbass. Kasumi's a thief, Jack can respect that. Zaeed's a dinosaur, but he's cool. Garrus was the leader of some mercenary hero gang on Omega and what was his payback? Getting half of his already ugly face blown off. Mordin's cold, no better than the Cerberus trash that experimented on her but someone good to have in a fight. Grunt's like some giant baby that will kill you without even knowing it. Jacob's a boy scout who doesn't get it. He's boring. Shepard—no read on her yet. Doesn't matter. Miranda— a thoroughbred liar. She doesn't trust her. She can't find a trace on her. All searches on the extranet make it seem like she doesn't even fucking exist. Jack can only find articles discussing her scholarly pursuits and her talents with a violin. Nothing recent. She's hiding something.

The word is that Miranda's smart and good with biotics but she isn't half as good as Jack is. They say she's perfect; Jack calls bullshit. She looks good, like a high class whore for hire for upper class assholes who have to pay for pussy and don't have anything to show for their life outside of creds.

Jack runs another search on Miranda and comes up empty. She tosses the PDA aside half-heartedly. A moment later she picks it up again and does another search for the group that picked her up when she'd escaped that fucked up facility when she was a kid. She finds a lead for a batarian and human pirate ship running around in Logasiri.

She'd been starving and disoriented by the time they'd found her; she'd figured that they'd help, that it had to be better, that evil was contained to that stone metal trap where she'd been raised. What a stupid shit she'd been. It's weird to think of it now, that time when she'd been so naïve. Everything that happened after that, including the eventual selling into slavery was nothing worse than she deserved. Teach her to be so damn trusting.

Doesn't mean she has to forgive and forget, though. She's already downloaded local copies of the schematics of the Normandy. Maybe they know she has them but fuck it. What are they gonna do? Kill her? And then what? They miss out on what she can do. It's not even a risk, it's win win either way.

But she isn't stupid. She can't exactly hijack the Normandy. Shepard would shoot her out an airlock if she thought of trying. As much as Jack hates to admit it, Shepard's good—she might be even better at killing shit than she is.

She creates a bogus posting on an extranet mercenary site under the name jacqueline0, mentioning that she has info on the dead spectre Shepard and the inner machinations of Cerberus. She's willing to share the info for an exorbitant amount of creds. Minutes later she receives a call from the Illusive Man. Jack smiles. Hook, line and sinker.

She reports to the comm. room and is surprised to see Miranda waiting for her. "You're stupid," Miranda says.

"Fuck you. Where's the Illusive Man?" She's no sooner said the words then the room begins to shift. Jack looks around wildly. "What the hell?" She's never met the bastard before, never had any need—he's a dick with ulterior motives. She doesn't need to meet him to know that. She arrives in some weird fucked up room. Pretty cool though, if you're into that kind of thing. She focuses on the burning sun behind him before turning to him. That's not even him, is it? She can't smell him. "Overcompensating much?" she crosses her arms. "You look like a pussy."

"Watch your mouth," Miranda growls next to her.

The Illusive Man chuckles.

Jack ignores her. "I don't want to waste my time so I'll get straight to it. Logasiri. There's some shit I need to wrap up there. I don't need Shepard to handle this so if the Normandy can drop me off there that's cool. It won't take long."

"Except all the time needed to get to the Omega Nebula and the Batalla system," The Illusive Man says. He keeps the cigarette dangling from his long but thick fingers. Jack can't stop staring at his fucked up eyes.

"I told you she's too much trouble," Miranda says, "let's just get rid of her."

The Illusive Man ignores Miranda, focusing on Jack. "Why is this so important to you?"

"I told you, there's some shit I gotta wrap up. Once that's done I can focus on this mission or whatever. I'm going one way or another. This way's faster and involves less dead people, at least on the Normandy."

"Try it," Miranda threatens.

"Don't get me started, Cheerleader," Jack encroaches on her space but Miranda doesn't flinch.

The Illusive Man clears his throat and both of the women face him. "After what happened on Horizon we have a little breathing room, but not much." He exhales wisps of smoke. "We'll take you to Logasiri. You'll take a shuttle from there." Jack casts a triumphant, gleeful look at Miranda when her jaw clenches. "But," he taps the ash of his cigarette on the ashtray, "you won't be going alone. You're not worth Shepard's time, Jack. Miranda will go and keep an eye on you."

"Fuck that!" Jack says, "I'm not taking this bitch with me!"

"It wasn't a request, Jack. You're hot headed. You'll need someone with a good head on her shoulders to keep an eye out. You're free to try to cause a rampage on this vessel and try to break out. You did it once before. But memories are untrustworthy. Maybe you're not as good as you think. If you try anything you might take a few people but you will be gunned down and then disposed of. It's your choice."

Jack clenches her jaw. "Fine," she says through gritted teeth, "but if the bitch doesn't come back don't say I didn't warn you," she logs out.

She's fucking won but she's lost, too. A chance to take sweet revenge all ruined by that bitch's interference. Who the fuck invited her anyway? Goddamn it. Is it that goddamn AI? EDI? She doesn't trust computers; they're too analytical and logical like Miranda, like the Illusive Man, like Mordin. She's pissed that the stupid automatic doors won't even let her punch them on the way out of the communication room.

She stalks to the bridge to instruct Joker with the coordinates.

* * *

Miranda remains with the Illusive Man. "You coddle her," she tells him. Time after time he has pampered Jack and forgiven trespasses that would earn other individuals serious ramifications if not a forfeiture of their life.

"You catch more flies with honey than vinegar," The Illusive Man says. "Surely a woman of your charms and prowess can understand that. Someone with her past can't afford to behave in the same way as you, despite your similarities." Miranda frowns at the words. "You'll go to Logasiri with her. Aid her in her little mission. If she proves too problematic, kill her. If you deem that her petty vendettas will interfere with the mission, kill her. Keep the body. Can you do that?"

"Yes. Of course."

He nods. "I'll trust your discretion. You've made the impossible possible, Miranda. That's why you're here. Jack may not know better but you do. I'll expect you to be professional and smart enough to put Cerberus ahead of your personal feelings."

Miranda bites her tongue. "I'll take care of it," she says and logs off.

Miranda is unused to having her professionalism questioned. She shakes and then forces the anger away. It is an irrational emotion that leads to poor judgment. The Illusive Man has made a request and she will see to it. She'll go to Logasiri with Jack. But if she sees an opportunity, she will take it. If Jack shows the slightest inclination of betraying Cerberus, she'll kill her. Perhaps Subject Zero's stupid little side mission will be the thing to finish the bitch off once and for all.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack stretches out lazily on the bucket seats of the UT-47 Kodiak drop shuttle. Unlike the Normandy S-2, the UT-47 is not designed for comfort—the seats are made of hard and unforgiving plastic with only minimal padding. It can seat up to twelve, fourteen if you count the pilots, for missions that require greater numbers. The crappy seats are the trade off. The engineers were clearly seeking efficiency and not comfort when they designed the shuttle—a thought that must have been secondhand considering how little time engineers tend to spend inside them. Anyone on the UT-47 Kodiak is usually headed toward danger and this trip is no exception. Miranda muses that the seats may have been designed so as to not allow combatants the opportunity to relax on route to missions but she knows that most likely the reason for their poor design is related to logistics. She suspects very little of the three hundred million credits spent on the UT-47 were spent on the seats.

Jack is in the seats opposite of her, hooking her boots beneath the triangular metal railings meant to provide support should the ride get too unruly. Miranda sits with a PDA in hand reading updated reports on Logasiri.

The shuttle temperature is several degrees higher than usual. Logasiri may have water but it is still a desert. Famous for the slaving trad,e as well as the tyrannical Silparon, it has an unsavory reputation. Not every slaver can say they worked over four hundred slaves to death and then ground their bodies up for compost heap. Nothing was wasted, to be sure. She can't say that Cerberus' work model varies greatly but Cerberus would never engage in anything so diabolical. Jack would disagree. Fortunately her opinion is irrelevant and unfortunately for Silparon, his wife took care of that situation. Shepard can be fickle and on some days, when she isn't blowing people up, she makes it a point to right intergalactic wrongs. Miranda would like to keep their missions related to the Collectors. Jack's side mission is an unfortunate occurrence and Miranda's presence is only another facet of her job. The sooner they get in, the sooner they can get out.

Jack's eyelids are closed. Her dark arched eyebrows suggest that even when miming sleep she's bored. Miranda has been reviewing Logasiri and the sketchy details that Jack has given her for the past several hours. And Jack is napping. "You can't honestly sleep that way." Miranda doesn't lower the PDA.

Jack doesn't respond for over a full minute and then: "I've slept in worse. You ever slept in your own shit and blood? You can get used to anything when you've got no other choice. This is luxury." A particularly hard air current jostles the shuttle and Miranda's fingertips touch to the metal railing for support. Jack's head smacks against the shuttle wall. She half rises on one elbow and pounds on the thick metal wall that separates them from the pilots. "Watch it!"

Miranda doesn't bother telling her that they can't hear her. "Are you prepared for this?"

"They won't know what hit them. Probably never thought that fourteen year old brat they abused and took advantage of would come back to bite them in the ass ten years later. Guess most slaves don't have long life expectancies. You know, I thought that would be a start of a new life for me. Guess it was, but not how I'd planned it." She turns on her side, her back to Miranda. Miranda can count the inked knobs of her spine. "Now shut the fuck up, will you? I may be stuck here with you but it doesn't mean we gotta make nice."

"What will you do?" Miranda asks. Jack's plan so far has consisted of 'we hit 'em'. The schematics of the freighter that Jack deigned to share reveal an average sized vessel. There's nothing extraordinary in that except that a good number of the crew are Blue Suns and likely other Logasiri trash they'd picked up along the way. Miranda doesn't support slavery or slavers but this falls outside the scope of what she oversees. She was made head of the Lazarus Project and the XO of the Normandy-S2 to support Shepard, not babysit psychotic eezo babies. "Do you have any kind of plan?"

"Kill them all."

Great. "That isn't a plan." Not a feasible one, anyway.

"All those fucks I've killed didn't think it was much of a plan either. Turns out my plan was better than theirs."

Miranda waits for more but it doesn't come. So that's what Jack has to offer: bravado. Miranda runs through the diagrams of the Paradise freighter (the name amuses her) and memorizes the layout: where the slaves are kept, the hallways where it's possible to be flanked and every escape route and passage. The last thing they need is to be trapped or be too reliant on an exit that doesn't pan out. She won't count on Jack's inflated ego to get them through the mission. As always, she will have to rely on herself if she wants things to be done the right way.

* * *

The calm wakes her. After hours of navigating through turbulent skies the eventual and gentle descent into the desert port is jarring. Jack sits up groggily, rubbing at a sore shoulder that has the indentations of the hard metal she'd slept against. Miranda looks out the large window; her clear blue eyes apparently unbothered by the glaring sunlight that comes in through the fortified glass. Jack involuntarily raises an arm to shield her face—she's still unused to sunlight after all these years. It fucks with her eyes. Maybe that's what happens when it takes fourteen years to see your first real snatch of it. She remembers it now, seeing that light through the cracks of the Pragia facility ceiling. It was like nothing she'd experienced in her cell. It was funny how the sunlight and not artificial light, had seemed unnatural, damn near terrifying with what it promised.

There was a guard, he'd seen what she did through the monitors at first, clinical like that and then finally in front of him. Splat, wet, sticky sounds. The screaming, the alarms… He had been scared. So had she. It didn't matter that he was much larger than her, it didn't matter that she knew what she could do. Feelings are fucking irrational. She was more desperate than scared and had enough firepower coursing through her to take out a small army. Makes a difference. She had thought that would be the end of it. Take out the guard and then move on to freedom. That lasted a few days in a hunk of a shuttle and then these assholes in the Paradise, ha, ha, had come along…

Jack gets to her feet and touches her hands to the window, leaving a sweaty handprint. It's fucking hot. She hears the shuttle make some kind of mechanical sound, readying for the doors to open but keeps her eyes on the desert expanse in front of her. So much fucking sand. It's been years since she's been back here. Never thought of coming back until Shepard gave her the intel. Maybe she'll thank her later but if not, it isn't like she owes her any favors. Jack said she'd fight for Shepard and that's good enough. That's all she's good for, anyway. Nobody would want her around if they weren't getting something out of it. It's fucked up that all the messed up shit people did to her throughout the years is the only thing that makes her worth a damn to anyone. Not that she blames Shepard; if you don't take advantage of a situation, someone else will. From the looks of things Shepard likes to take advantage.

"Done sightseeing?" Miranda asks from the open shuttle door. Fuck. She hates tuning out like that. Jack leaves the window and walks out of the shuttle. Miranda pulls up a map on her omni-tool. The heat is immediately oppressive; like the burn of a lab lamp on her face, too close for too long. She slaps her forehead to clear the memory. Miranda glances at her but doesn't ask, probably thinks it was a bug or that she's bat shit crazy like everyone else does. The Normandy's spoiled Jack; the humidity of Logasiri is uncomfortable. She focuses on Miranda's map that designates a route. "Our target is near 17,000 meters west. It will be nightfall by the time we arrive. Records indicate the Paradise is 'docked' for the next two sun cycles. The crew numbers at over fifty, of those fifty, fifteen have been aboard for over ten years."

"Good." She rolls her fist and cracks her knuckles. "I'll have time to play catch up."

"Not too much time. Don't drag this out. We do what we need to do, expediently, and then we return to the shuttle and to the Normandy."

"Fuck expedient. I want slow and messy."

"I'm in charge, Jack. You follow my orders."

"You aren't in charge of shit. This isn't Cerberus and you aren't on the Normandy so kiss my ass. Wait in the shuttle if you want. I can do this myself. I'll even keep it from that fag The Illusive Man if it helps make it easier for you." Who the fuck willingly goes by that name? "I don't want you around ruining my celebration." Jack watches Miranda's contemplative face and for a moment she thinks that Miranda will go for it. Then Miranda shakes her head no. Figures.

Miranda throws a satchel at Jack who catches it easily and slings it over her shoulder. "Water canteens. Stay hydrated. I'm not dragging you back to the shuttle if you pass out."

"Back at you, Cheerleader." The desert wind whistles past them. Jack looks to the endless sky of blue while Miranda checks her submachine gun and hand cannon. The shotgun rests against Jack's leg but she isn't worried about it jamming. If all people had to be afraid of with her was a goddamn shotgun she wouldn't be considered such a menace to society. She thinks of all the batarian motherfuckers on the Paradise and licks her lips. It took ten years but payback is finally coming. Most shit isn't worth waiting for but this will help. This will make some of it go quiet.

Miranda is already trudging through the sand. Jack smirks watching after her. If she didn't wear hooker boots she'd have an easier time of it. Jack throws on a sand colored cloak and hood. She may be a bad ass but she can't exactly beat back a sunburn or dehydration. Anyway, she doesn't want her ink to get fucked up.

She moves. Every step she takes toward the Paradise summons a memory, a beating, an abuse, a picture of a girl who could have been something, who could have made something of herself instead of becoming some fucked up convict junky.

She hates these thoughts. She hates the way they make her stomach knot up. She clenches her fists. She'll kill them. She'll kill them all and she will feel better. It will make it better. She kills because it makes her better.

* * *

The terrain isn't as treacherous as the heat. Trudging through sand makes for slow journeys. Jack doesn't offer much conversation aside from answering Miranda's questions in the most monosyllabic way possible.

The mining caves where slaves spend their lives are much further inland. It would be stupid to keep the slaves so near port where the ships are. A slave rebellion would be disastrous to the Logasiri 'economy' and too many people, too many slavers would die. They've learned from history and now keep slaves at a distance, deep in the mines. The port is only for slavers seeking new bodies and a place to dump those who've been kidnapped—envoys full of armed soldiers come to collect them and take them to their new 'quarters'. Miranda made sure to have all the appropriate paperwork ready, not that paperwork means much of anything on a planet like Logasiri. Still, it's better to be safe than sorry. The last thing Cerberus needs is to create a diplomatic scandal that could undermine their organization.

On the way to their destination they find spots of clotted, rust colored sand along with the occasional leathery corpse riddled with bullet holes. "Must have tried to run away," Jack comments, "The slavers would offer a decent meal if you ratted out friends who were thinking of rebelling. Better to squash it before it gets out of control; who cares about a lousy meal if you've got your entire 'livelihood' up at stake. After days of not eating a thing or eating bugs any prepared food starts to sound pretty good. Chances are that 'friend' of yours will be dead in a few weeks anyway; there are lots of ways for a slave to die so why not rat them out and at least get some good grub?" She shakes her head passing the body. "Poor bastards. They're better off dead."

Miranda keeps a mental log of the distance they've covered. She's begun to perspire lightly and regrets not having changed her boots. The curiosity that manifests itself into a question is a slip up but she rationalizes that anything she can know about Jack will be a boon to her job. The more she knows about the people she's working with, the better. "Did you ever do it?"

"I can live off roaches. Other people are pickier. Anyway, I wasn't going to help those assholes kill people. Not for some rubbery chicken and weak greens. Steak, maybe. They never had steak. Not for the slaves."

"So instead of coming at you with reason on Purgatory, Shepard should have tied a steak to a string to lure you onto the Normandy?"

"A nice big one."

"I'll let her know." Miranda says. Despite being on a slaver planet, on an irrelevant mission, heatstroke on their heels, on course to kill people, she believes this is the first light moment she and Jack have ever shared. It isn't a big deal but it is short lived; she glances at Jack who looks irrationally angry. Miranda makes no further commentary. Jack maintains a sullen silence.

Vultures circle overhead.

The sun has dipped below the horizon, casting a crimson tinge over the desert sands when they spot the freighter hours later. Miranda slips behind a sand dune and retrieves a canteen of water from the bag Jack carries, drinking leisurely as Jack observes the freighter. Her eyes are hard and focused. A sharp wind rises and yanks at the cloak Jack wears, pulling it from her face. She looks too young. Or maybe Miranda only thinks so because she's eleven years her senior. "We'll wait," Miranda says, "until nightfall. Their only advantage is the territory," she sets the canteen aside and pulls up her omni-tool, "but the data we have for the freighter is a perfect match. Even quarians upgrade their flotillas more often than this. The Batarians are cheap."

"And in a few hours time they'll be dead." Jack crashes hard next to her, sending sand in every which direction. Miranda distastefully wipes away at the grains that landed on her legs and thighs. Jack brings her knees to her chest, folding her spindly arms along her knees and lowering her head. The cloak Jack wears looks too large on her. Miranda thinks of the smaller LOKI machines, how they fold up in similar manner to Jack and feels an unfamiliar jerk of emotion. What was that just now? Sadness?

* * *

It's night. Fucking finally. No more waiting. Jack stands, ready.

It's cold. She forgot that about deserts. How they empty out at night. She rubs at her arms. The Cheerleader doesn't seem bothered by the temperature but Miranda's got more meat on her bones than she does. Jack thinks of all the runaway slaves that slipped loose in the night. When they died of hypothermia overnight the slavers would laugh. If they were feeling sentimental they'd discuss what a steal they'd gotten when they'd kidnapped them or bought them for a fraction of credits. It was normal talking like that in front of slaves. It made it funnier.

_Focus, you stupid shit!_  Jack shakes her head.

The freighter. Like that Noah's Ark in religion, instead of herding animals they herd anyone they can use and cram them all in like sardines. She talks in spite of herself. "Not as big as I remember. Looks shittier, too." Fuck. Is she nervous? Why now? It's going to be different this time. Is it the years that passed that changed the freighter or was her memory fucked from the get go? She'd been starving and off drugs when they found her. Being off drugs can fuck your head even more than being on them. It was so long ago. Why the hell is she here?  _Because it fucking matters, no matter how long ago it was._ An eye for an eye; Batarians have four of them so they'll get it back more than twofold.

There are several entrances onto the ship, the largest one is to the south where cargo and 'cargo' is loaded. That one is likely to be heavily guarded. Slavers steal from slavers and not only that, there are pirates eager to rob them of any precious metals they might have mined. The batarians have no choice but to increase their fortifications or forego the precious items they've accumulated. There is another point of entry on the left and another on the right. Heading to the right entry means circling around in the darkness. It's worth it. The kitchen entry way is 'guarded' by a batarian cook on his smoke break. He looks tired and slump shouldered, wiping at his face. Miranda slips the silencer over the barrel of her gun and shoots. He begins to topple over but Jack pulls him to them with her biotics. She lets him fall to the sand in front of her. A puff of sand rises. He's dead. Jack tsks. She remembers him. "He was a shitty cook."

They see the pale lemon light seeping out of the ship and make their way to it, pressing their backs to the metal hull wall. They exchange a minute nod and slip inside. All clear. The kitchen is hot; it provides a good contrast to the outside temperature. There is a mess with a bloody butcher knife and unrecognizable meats.

There are three doors in the kitchen. The one on the left leads to outside where they just came from. To the right are the refrigeration rooms. Straight ahead, a long hallway with a myriad of doors and more hallways. Jack remembers where the mess hall is and is hit by memories, sitting at a long table, stuffing her face while the batarian and human crew plied her with questions. She'd been bruised but happy. She'd answered their questions. She'd told them what she could do. They were curious, different than the scientists in the facility. She'd thought it meant they found her interesting.

"I thought it was bigger than this," Jack mutters quietly. That makes no sense. Why had she thought that? She'd looked at the schematics but that's not what she works with, she goes with gut feelings. Is this what had been so goddamn important? Maybe she's used to Purgatory and the Normandy, not exactly standard ships. She moves through the hallways making her way to the captain's quarters, her shotgun raised, ready to blow the head off of anyone who thinks to stand in her way. Then she hears them. "Stop," she says. She hones her listening and turns her head in the direction of the growling.

"Varren," Miranda says. "They're kept—"

"I know where they're fucking kept," Jack snaps. Her muscles are tense, her jaw tight. She sees them in her mind. The creatures are always vicious, always feral, muscular and likely to rip your throat out. Not that she'd known any of that. The crew had taken her to them as if it were a petting zoo. She hadn't known what they really were or their history with batarians and krogans as war animals. Now that she thinks of it, she doesn't know why they didn't rip her to shreds on sight. Maybe they smelled the biotics on her but they came to her, sniffed at her and licked her hand. The crew had laughed and cheered. Or maybe it was jeers she'd heard, sometimes it's hard to tell the difference. Jack keeps moving. "They let me play with the varren, name them, keep them as pets. Then when I was attached they made me fight them for food."

"What did you do?"

"I'm standing here. What the fuck do you think I did?" She can still hear their whimpers when she fried them with biotics. She had been screaming and crying at the same time. Some of those howls must have come from her. "The conditioning was fucked. Even now when I kill one of those little fuckers in a fight I feel a little fuller."

"You had no choice."

"Save it. Everyone has a choice." They reach the end of a hallway. There's a door that leads to the upper levels. It starts to open and then jams, groaning loudly. Jack ignores Miranda's sarcastic 'perfect' and rips the motherfucker back with her biotics. She flings the door down the hallway from where they came, sending it tumbling in three violent spins before it crashes clamorously. Might as well use what she's working with. Miranda gives her a shitty look. Probably wasn't subtle enough for her. Fuck subtle. Jack steps into the stairwell and sees the rectangular metal stairs that go up several flights. She keeps her shotgun handy as she begins to climb. "Everyone always picks themselves over someone else." Her voice bounces in the large contained space, ringing hollow. "I did the smart thing. I'm not looking for sympathy, Cheerleader, so save the pep talk. I did what I had to to survive. Always will."

"The way you constantly bitch and moan I'd have thought Cerberus were the only ones to supposedly hurt you."

"There are users everywhere. Doesn't mean Cerberus gets a fucking free pass because of it."

"Let's keep moving."

They keep moving until they're on the third level. This door slides open soundlessly. Miranda looks relieved for small favors. This floor is rusty and dark. Jack can hear something leaking. She's pretty fucking sure they used to take better care of this place. She wouldn't have been so damn impressed even as a kid if it was always this run- down. There are loud scraping noises. Lights flicker uncertainly, shutting off entirely before coming back on. Lawson looks like she just hit the jackpot. Jack knows what she's thinking. She wants something clean and covert. Fuck that. She wants them to know she's coming. She wants them to be scared. She wants them to think they can fucking fight only to die at her hand. She won't give it to them easy. She won't let them die thinking it was okay.

"The area where the slaves are usually kept is empty. They must have already been moved to a nearby facility," Miranda tells her as they move down the hallways. "In case some part of you harbors noble intentions and wants to release them."

"Yeah, a 'facility'. The mines. Live where you work, work where you live, live where you die. After the crew sold me, before the Blue Suns motherfuckers got their hands on me, before they were working with these Freedom assholes, the slavers used me to blast some of the fucking holes in the mines. It was cheaper than buying explosives and equipment. I could pull up some half-assed barriers if I fucked up the blasts but the others couldn't. The slavers didn't give a damn who died, it was about time and money. Slaves can be replaced faster than credits. In some cases you can get a slave cheaper than food. Hell, when you're kidnapping them you're really just giving yourself a five finger discount, on people."

"Then you have an interest in releasing them?"

Jack scoffs. "Where to? We can't take them back to the Normandy and everyone else on this godforsaken planet would do worse. Fuck them. They'll live. I did. Hell, maybe someday they'll follow in my footsteps and take a few."

"You took slaves?"

"I was a pirate not a philanthropist. They gave me credits to corral slaves, I corralled slaves." Her tone is aloof. She focuses on the grime of the hallways, on the sand that's scattered, feeling grainy beneath her boots. She fixates on the empty sound of her footsteps and the pressure that she applies to the trigger of the shotgun.

"After what they did to you? After you were a slave?"

Jack laughs coarsely."You've never been a bottom-feeder, have you? You come from money, from privilege; I can smell it on you. Once you claw your way out of the bottom you'll do anything to stay out of the bottom. Even if it means doing the exact shit someone did to you to someone else. No one thinks they have it in them until it comes time to choose, you versus them. I'm not here to play hero. I'm no better than an animal. That's all someone is when they've lost all ability to have morals."

"And you think Cerberus is bad."

"Cerberus made me," Jack growls, turning suddenly and shoving Miranda hard against a wall. Miranda looks cross and irritated but not afraid. Like she isn't even worth getting upset about. Jack's voice doesn't rise but it is near shrill. "What do you think? Actually, whatever it is you have to say, I'm sure it'll piss me off so don't bother."

Jack regrets that she can't kill her. She runs a hand along her head while Miranda pulls away from the wall as if it had been her choice to rest there to begin with. The light of her omni-tool gets Jack's attention. In the shadowy hallway the glow of the omni-tool mimics that of candlelight on Miranda's face. It accentuates her full lips and long eyelashes.

"Someone's coming," Miranda says.

The words have barely left her lips when Jack turns and sees three Blue Suns guards with their guns pointed at them.

* * *

Lovely. If Jack wasn't so insistent on emoting her displeasure they might have been able to take the guards by surprise. Their heat signatures had tracked on Miranda's omni-tool but Jack's little tantrum had given their position away. Now they have inauspicious circumstances to deal with. The guards are on high alert. On one hand she and Jack are clearly not slaves, Miranda isn't anyway. On the other it's likely obvious they aren't members of the ship.

"Who are you?" The batarian that leads the group points his gun at Miranda. The other two have their arms trained on Jack. The rifle and armor that the guards wear easily cost more than any of the other items the freighter houses, more than a roomful of slaves would cost, most likely.

Miranda lowers her gun to her side, giving a show of compliance. "Miranda Lawson: Cerberus. I have business with the captain of this ship. This isn't the reception I was expecting. I doubt he'll take kindly to finding out you had those guns pointed at me."

The batarian, ugly like the others, looks uncertain but he doesn't lower his weapon. "What business do you have with the captain?"

"It's confidential. If you were privy to it you'd already know." Miranda knows, as Jack does, that the triggers of their guns are squeezed halfway. There's no way they can get a shot in without an opening. She only hopes Jack can control her temper long enough for them to get through this. It's her fault they're in this mess.

"Keep your guns ready," the batarian directs the other two human soldiers who look hesitant after hearing Cerberus mentioned. The humans steel their jaws and keep the guns tightly aimed at Jack, inching closer. Jack's nostrils flare. The batarian glances at Jack. "Who's that?"

"Oh this?" Miranda turns her head in Jack's direction with a condescending smile. "Just a slave I picked up. You wouldn't know it by the looks of her but she's worth a lot of money. Interested?" When the batarian turns, swinging the assault rifle to Jack to get a better look, Miranda whips her gun out, seamlessly expelling a bullet into each of their heads. Their brains splatter onto the walls. They crumple in unison.

"Damn." Jack doesn't have to say she's impressed. She prods at one of the lifeless bodies with her boot, her demeanor relaxing from just several moments ago.

Blood puddles at their feet. Miranda looks at the holes perfectly centered in the middle of their foreheads. "Never much saw the point in wearing armor without a helmet."

"Slaves don't have guns. Helmets cost creds."

"It would have bought them another few seconds," Miranda says dispassionately before she looks sharply at Jack. "Don't let that happen again. I won't have you risking my life. Let's finish this. The captain's quarters are ahead. I'm tracking several heat signatures in that location."

Jack ignores her warning. "He's most likely doing a business deal; they'll be drinking. I'm hoping it won't be too easy. A kill isn't any good unless you have to work for it."

Miranda frowns and readies her weapon. "Don't do anything stupid. Remember, the Collectors come before any of your vendettas. I won't have you jeopardizing the mission or yourself unnecessarily." Jack may be a nuisance but the Illusive Man would like her kept alive. Miranda will see to it that she aids both Cerberus and Shepard, even if that means being stuck with her longer than she'd prefer.

"Stop worrying." Jack draws out the shotgun and swivels it in her hand before taking firm hold of it. "I can handle this. Just sit back and watch."

"No."

"Spoilsport."

They walk down the hallway towards the captain's quarters. Miranda glances at her omni-tool, no heat signatures registered around the corner of the hallway but she doesn't fully trust technology; there are ways of working around it. She takes a look before rounding the corner. Nothing.

They approach the door to the cabin. She hears voices and from the way that Jack's movements shift, slow and predatory, Miranda can tell that Jack's heard them too. Jack presses to the wall beside the door, squeezing her eyes shut, moving her lips, saying something that Miranda can't hear. What's she doing? Praying? They can't trust in a higher power to step in for them. God existed before science took over. If God really existed, she doubts she or Jack would.

Miranda checks her omni-tool. Twelve bodies are inside the doors. It was madness for the Illusive Man to allow this. But she's essential to the mission. Maybe Jack is too. Shepard can't do it without them and so they have no choice but to succeed. She takes a breath and exchanges looks with Jack. On three, Miranda mouths to her.

One. Two. Three.

* * *

The room is square and only slightly more impressive than the rest of the freighter. There's a desk immediately upon entering as well as several tables and bookshelves that hold spoils, not books, and a liquor cabinet.

Jack smears two of the guards as soon as she and Miranda enter the room, yanking them violently into the walls. What's left inside of their armor is nothing but liquefied flesh and bone fragments. She remembers this room. She was traded here. Sold like fucking cattle.

From the corner of her eye she can see Miranda pop the heads off two soldiers, their heads detonating like grenades in response to her biotics. Bone hits Jack's face and she blasts her shotgun into the abdomen of an approaching soldier, at range this close armor doesn't work worth a damn. The hole in him is so large he collapses into himself like an accordion before falling over. Jack kicks a large metal table over and takes cover.

A torrent of gunfire has begun but she smells the cigar smoke in the air, the liquor that's been ingested and blown to shit on the floor. Now she smells blood. The heat of ammo shell casings. Everyone's screaming, The captain, Takat, is barking orders. She closes her eyes for a moment and drowns in the shouts. That warm, fuzzy feeling is going through her again.

No hesitation, even waiting seconds to take a shot makes her apprehensive and uncomfortable, like the shocks are going to come again if she doesn't start killing soon. A soldier tries to round the table and she dispatches the shotgun into his face. A blood shower comes down on top of her and she stands, exhilarated. She sees a batarian soldier flung out a window by Miranda. Jack laughs manically. "I'll kill you all!" She jumps onto a desk and kicks a blue sun in the face, snapping his neck back unnaturally.

Miranda has her gun out, taking cover beside a bookshelf. She takes her fucking time firing two shots but they're on the mark and soon two more bodies are on the floor. Now there's only one left: the batarian captain Takat. Jack jumps off the desk, landing cleanly despite the blood and collection of batarian and human tissue on the floor.

Takat's leg was broken somewhere along the way. It must have been Miranda's work. He's dragging himself to the window, no doubt meaning to throw himself out and figure out some escape route in the darkness. He's reaching for a gun but Jack tears it away from him before he can grab hold. Once a piece of shit, always a piece of shit. Jack pulses blue with biotic power. She jerks him to his feet. There are advantages to being a biotic badass—more free hands to kill with. "Remember me, asshole?" When he opens his mouth she shoves the barrel of the shotgun into his mouth. The way his eyes go wide makes her want to fucking skip. If she'd ever learned how to do that.

Miranda looks in their direction but ignores them, choosing instead to rifle calmly through the desk, withdrawing PDAs and other intelligence. Jack turns away from her and focuses on Takat who's drooling on the gun. She pulls it out of his mouth, taking one of his teeth with it. She cocks her fist, pummeling his face. He groans and coughs. Her fist comes away red and she hits him again. Then again. And again.

Miranda comes to stand at Jack's side. She has the PDAs in hand. "Is there a point to this?"

"Who are you crazy bitches?" Takat asks, gurgling on his words. Blood runs from his face and mouth; he's slimy with sweat.

"We're the 'crazy bitches' who took out the top personnel of your pathetic freighter in a manner of minutes," Miranda says.

"Shut up!" Jack whips him with the butt of her gun this time. "You fucking asshole, you probably never thought you'd see me again, did you? Did you like it? Picking me up, making me think I was part of the crew, part of your fucked up little batarian family before you started your fucked up mind games and sold me off to the highest bidder? Were you bored? Couldn't think of other ways to torture me? Come on, I was a fourteen year old kid, there were other ways or were you too fucking stupid to think of them? Did you think I wouldn't be able to handle it? Did you think I'd let you get away with it?" She's shouting now.

Miranda looks at the omni-tool. "A silent alarm has gone off. There are others headed here. Make this quick."

"You shaved your head, got some tattoos," Takat says with a laugh. "I've heard of you. I've heard of what you've done. They had you on Purgatory. You're a bigger monster than I am. You've killed more people than my entire crew," he laughs again, wheezing, "and you're pissed off because I did some business? Wasn't personal, Jacqueline—"

Her eyes widen and before she knows it she's slammed him to the ground. She hears something snap but is on him before she can process what it might be. Fuck guns. Fuck biotics. Fuck the noise in her head, fuck Takat who treats the shitty hand he dealt her like it was fucking business. She hates that. Business is cold. She prefers personal. She prefers this. She balls her fists and swings viciously, pounding his face repeatedly until she hears another crack, until he's missing eyes, until she's torn her skin open and her fists are filled with pulp and blood. She's gasping, breathing hard, there's shit in her mouth, blood, bones, flesh. "You fuck," she whispers, hunched over him, her face close to his chest. He doesn't have much of a head anymore.

"We have to move," Miranda says. Jack rolls away from him but doesn't get up immediately. Miranda is looking towards the door. Jack sits for a few moments, rocking back and forth, cradling her head in her hands. Her mouth tastes like sweat. Is it sweat? Is it tears? She doesn't know. There's a rasping sound. Jack turns to him, drained. Still alive? She wipes at her face and smears him along her cheeks and eyes. She's on all fours, close. "He's still alive," Miranda explains. "His back is broken and he's suffered substantial brain trauma." She cocks her gun and points it at his heart.

"Leave him." Jack says raspily. She looks up at Miranda whose finger is on the trigger, squeezing lightly. Their eyes meet briefly before Jack quickly looks away. Miranda withdraws her finger from the trigger. Miranda has sided with Jack: Takat can die the slow way. Miranda extends a hand to her and Jack takes it, letting Miranda pull her to her feet. "They're coming." She can hear them now.

Jack reaches into her pants pockets and withdraws a handful of grenades, holding them between her fingers. She pulls the pins and scatters them down the hall before she jumps onto the window sill and looks at the sandy ground below. "Fuck it. We're biotics. We can take the express route."

They jump out the window, a ball of fire and the screams of those who burn following after them.

* * *

It rains on the trek back. The shower is heavy but brief. It's enough to wash the blood away. Miranda arranges for the shuttle to pick them up, an easy task that is facilitated in the darkness. The ensuing chaos makes easy work for her and Jack to board the shuttle. They're in the sky before the news breaks in Logasiri.

Miranda tunes into the appropriate frequencies on her omni-tool to pick up on news. So far, so good. There are only hazy details being communicated amongst the slavers and nothing to identify the perpetrators of the attack. Miranda looks at Jack who sits rigidly on the shuttle seat, her skin slick with rain. "How are you doing?" Miranda asks.

"Leave me alone."

Fair enough. Miranda takes the opportunity to look through the PDAs she'd taken from the batarian captain's office. There are details on the kidnappings done throughout the various star systems as well as the going prices of slaves and the credits needed to maintain them. Their budgets are too drastic but she imagines that they don't particularly concern themselves with a standard of living for the slaves. None of the information gleaned is very relevant. The mission was a success but of little value.

They've still a ways to go until they return to the Normandy. Miranda begins to write a composite of notes to form the basis of her report. She isn't inclined to forget details but there's no point in not taking measures right now and getting a bulk of it done and out of the way. Jack may be good in a fight but she isn't very good company. She's hopeless with conversation. Then again, there are few that can keep Miranda actively engaged in talk. That's fine. She isn't on the Normandy to make friends. She and Jack can agree on that.

They arrive at the Normandy in the dead of night. Jack is pacing the small space before they've docked while Miranda continues to monitor the Logasiri lines. It was a small operation but it's good to be cautious with batarians—there's no good reason to give them further incentive to dislike humans. As soon as the doors to the shuttle open, Jack hops out like a cat. Miranda leisurely follows suit. She's surprised to see Commander Shepard in the docking area.

The commander looks to Jack. "How'd it go?"

"Screw off, Shepard." Jack moves past the both of them without another glance back.

Shepard looks at Miranda with an arched eyebrow. Miranda sees where the synthetics are starting to break down. Shepard's skin is beginning to glow lava red. Not exactly reassuring. "That bad, huh?"

Miranda shakes her head. "She's just being petulant. The mission went off without a hitch. Goals were met faster than anticipated."

"Your calculations were off? Are you getting sloppy or is Jack that good at killing?"

"We both have a talent for it." Granted, Miranda prefers her kills clean and efficient. Jack likes the gore and mess, to take her time. It's not how Miranda would choose to do things but as long as Jack directs the frenetic energy to their enemies she sees no sense in complaining.

"Should I be watching my step?"

Miranda smiles somewhat flirtatiously. "Maybe. Now if you'll excuse me, I've a report to write and a long shower to take. It was nice of you to check in on us. I'll see you later, Commander."

* * *

Jack is restless. Logasiri wasn't what she'd expected, it was wrong, it was all wrong. It was too easy; the freighter was too small, the guards fucking jokes. Takat had barely remembered her. What the fuck had she been to him, a blip in his existence? Is that what had held her back years ago? Had she been that pathetic? That naïve? How could something that had haunted her for so long, that had forged so much of who she is be so goddamn forgettable to him?

She kicks at one of the crates near her and sends it sliding in the direction of Shepard. Jack scowls. "What the fuck do you want, Shepard? I don't want to talk so take a hike."

"Guess that answers my first question." Shepard comes closer. Jack withdraws further into the engine room, slipping into the shadows and taking a seat on the railing. "You're going to explode if you keep all that anger pent up."

"Nah, I'll just blow up someone else. Thanks for playing, though."

"I'm trying, Jack."

"No one asked you to."

"You really don't want to talk about it? I like to know what's going on with my team."

"I'm not part of your 'team' Shepard. I'm just here biding my time. If you want to think I'm part of your team, whatever." She slides off the railing and paces some more until she becomes aware of her footsteps and stops. "It just pisses me off," she says. "It was too easy. It was too fucking easy. I was held back by that? I've spent ten shitty years thinking about that time. It was so goddamn anti-climatic. So now all those bastards are dead. So what? I'm still here, I'm still me, I'm still… just, this."

"No closure then, I take it."

"Fuck closure." Who the hell ever gets that? When has she ever? Is that what she was expecting? Maybe she got it and she doesn't know. Or maybe it doesn't feel real. Maybe she doesn't understand what it is.

"You can let it go. Put it behind you."

"I'll get right on that, Shepard. Fuck off, I'm done talking." She takes a seat on her cot and faces in the other direction. Eventually Shepard gets a fucking clue and leaves. They always leave.

* * *

The report is finished and has been sent to the Illusive Man. More importantly, she's taken a shower and washed away the blood and grime of the battle. She doesn't often remember her father fondly and aside from kidnapping her sister and making her escape, she can't ever say she had any years of teenage rebellion; however she always takes a moment to meditate on the conniption her father would have to think that the fantasy daughter he'd created- his legacy- ran around with convicts fighting batarians. That's only when she's feeling petty and small. Usually she just resents him. She'd wanted to be more for him. Sometimes she still wonders what he'd think of her and the world she was helping to create. Would he find reason to complain still?

Probably. She tries not to dwell on it. She wants to leave that part of her life behind her and she dislikes feeling melancholy. To say that her curse is to be blessed with perfection isn't a very compelling argument. History and memories can be damning. They can wreck a person, destroy them until they're so mangled they can't ever be normal again. Like Jack.

She takes the PDA with her and makes her way to engineering. What she has for Jack to see isn't the full report; she's carefully omitted her analysis of the woman. There's no reason to antagonize her. Nor does she want to have to deflect any other temper tantrum she may feel the need to have. She's at the stairs when she hears the end piece of the conversation with Jack and Shepard. She waits at the head until Shepard climbs up. Shepard shakes her head at Miranda. "Don't know if I'd risk her right now," Shepard says.

"It's my job to take risks," Miranda says brushing a wet lock of hair from her eyes. "Doesn't mean I have to like it, though. I was going to share the report with her—would you like a copy?"

Shepard shakes her head. "I can deal just fine avoiding more bureaucratic crap. It didn't end in the Alliance and it doesn't end with Cerberus."

"What can I say, Shepard? Humans love bureaucracy. Think of it as a necessary evil—the price of efficiency."

"Efficient bureaucracy? Isn't that an oxymoron?" She smiles and shakes her head. "Good luck, Miranda. If you're still alive, I'll see you later."

"If I'm not then the trust placed in me by you and the Illusive Man is misplaced."

"Who said I trusted you?"

Miranda grins and then nods to her. Shepard's a pain in the ass. "Goodnight, Commander." She moves down the stairs slowly. She doesn't know why she's doing this now. She could do it later but she's never believed in leaving for later what could be done in the present. She arrives at the foot of the stairs and lingers there a moment. Jack is sitting in her cot, hunched over staring at the wall.

Jack turns to her. "Hey."

Miranda doesn't try to engage her in conversation. Jack isn't in the mood (is she ever?) and Miranda doesn't want to waste the effort. "I've brought a copy of the Logasiri report that I wrote for the Illusive Man. Interested?"

"No. You'll show me one thing and give him something else. I know how this works, Cheerleader. Don't bother. Fuck reports. All anyone ever does is write reports on me. And then I kill them." So much for the olive branch. Miranda can't say she's surprised. She turns to go. "Hey." Miranda stops. "You're not bad in a fight."

"You already knew that." She's not bad at anything. Except, some would suggest, being humble.

"Right." Jack says. Miranda waits. Jack continues. "It wasn't supposed to go down that way."

"What 'way' were you expecting it to 'go down'?" Miranda asks. Jack shrugs. "We went to Logasiri to put you at ease. I can't say I've ever seen you be that way but I wager this isn't what it looks like." She rests against the table across from Jack. "We're not going to keep going on these wild goose chases for you, Jack. We don't have the time. If anything, you're more uneasy than before.

"Stop psychoanalyzing me, Lawson."

"Stop making it so easy." Miranda thinks of Yeoman Kelly Chambers. The girl thought she knew a lot for someone with only an undergraduate degree in psychology. She'd read her report on Jack, labeling her as unstable. Rocket science. She leaves the table and sits next to Jack.

Jack stiffens. "What the fuck?"

"You'll likely not hear this again but you're right. The report I was going to give you was falsified." She punches a few buttons on the PDA and recalls the finalized report that has already been sent to the Illusive Man. "Go ahead and read it."

"Pass."

"Fine." She's ready to leave.

"What are you doing? Here? Talking to me? Don't tell me you feel sorry for me."

"I feel sorry for your victims, Jack. Not you." Miranda sees Jack noticeably flinch and then look away. It may be true that Jack terrifies countless of people, for good reason, but Miranda sees glimpses of who she is. Jack's been unraveling before her for the past several months. Her files make for interesting reading but the files miss a lot of the history. Having only data to go on to analyze Jack would be a blatant misrepresentation. You don't know Jack unless you know Jack. And even now Miranda knows that she really only has a fraction of the whole. She touches her fingers to the side of Jack's face: a test.

Jack reacts. Miranda dodges the first swing easily. The second doesn't even come close. Jack's on edge; she's had a long day which makes her vulnerable (sloppy, Miranda corrects). Miranda shoves her down on the cot. Jack is furious. It looks like they're fighting but Miranda's only playing. Jack's strikes miss their target again. Miranda catches Jack's thin arm and slams it into the wall. She retaliates with a kiss to the crook of Jack's neck. Jack's skin is hot. Miranda pulls away long enough to look at her but stays close. Jack's thin chest is heaving frantically. Miranda can count the bones of her sternum. Jack hadn't looked so upset on Logasiri. Miranda reasons that she should stop but she doesn't. She clambers over the woman, straddling her and drops again, her lips hovering over Jack's.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Jack demands.

"You're complaining?"

"Get off me."

"You don't want that."

Jack shoots her arm out. Her fingers wrap tightly around Miranda's throat and squeeze. Miranda winces only for a moment. Jack jerks to a sitting position; her eyes narrow hatefully. "I should snap your neck."

"Go ahead." Miranda's face is flushed, her words thin. "No one's stopping you." Jack hadn't expected that response. Her grip weakens. "Or you can let me go and I'll give you what you want."

"You don't know what the fuck I want." She lets her go.

Miranda breathes. Jack glowers at a wall. Miranda touches Jack's head, the short bristle of her buzzed hair is surprisingly soft beneath her fingers. Miranda's touch comes to rest at the nape of Jack's neck. Jack is still as Miranda's full lips brush along her temple, then her eyelids before finally grazing her lips. Jack clenches her hands. They shake. Miranda covers them and carefully guides them to her legs, up her thighs, where they tentatively slide upwards. Miranda draws a slow breath as Jack digs her fingers into her hips.

This is a challenge. Miranda is waiting.

Jack angles her head up and seizes Miranda's mouth, parting her lips forcibly with her tongue. Miranda allows Jack's abusive, bruising kiss and reciprocates in kind, feeling the sharps of Jack's incisors tugging on her lips, and the harsh, violent stab of her tongue. Of course Jack kisses this way. She probably doesn't know any alternative. Miranda can't say that she's never known this kind of kiss; she has, though not in this extreme. Miranda shifts the tempo, slowing it down, making it gentle. Not because she has any affection for Jack, she doesn't. She feels sorry for her even if she dislikes her greatly. Miranda wants to understand her but Jack is resistant. This is just another way of understanding. They are free of emotion so it won't interfere with the mission.

Looks are deceiving. Their kiss would suggest to any spectator that they hold fondness for one another. It's foolish to trust with your eyes.

Jack is a caged animal; she lashes out, aggressively backhanding Miranda. The loud clap of the hit echoes. Miranda turns back to Jack, calmly touching a hand to her lip, her throbbing face. She looks at the blood on her finger emotionlessly. "Don't do that," Jack threatens. She is a pyre of fury and indignation and then: a flicker of guilt.

Miranda kisses her in the same gentle way again. Jack groans in protest. Miranda eases the tight leather strap from Jack's bony shoulder and then the other. Jack breaks the kiss but Miranda presses her down to the cot. Jack is a tapestry of tattoos, her history blatant and carved upon her.

Jack growls as if she's being punished or taunted. She is. Miranda slips her hand down Jack's pants, an easy task given how loose they are. Jack sucks her breath in when Miranda attends to her breasts with her lips, biting her nipples lightly, flicking at them with her tongue. Jack arches into Miranda, hissing. Miranda keeps a palm to Jack's abs, pinning her. Her eyes don't leave Jack's face, watching her react. "Fuck," Jack closes her eyes. When Miranda's hands inch along the inside of her thighs, drawing her nails lightly along her skin before sliding her fingers carefully into her, Jack bangs her head into the small regulation pillow and swears again. Jack's gasp pierces the night air.

Miranda allows a small smile. She's in control. Maybe Jack isn't entirely predictable after all.

They part ways wordlessly without so much as an exchange of glances. Miranda hasn't gotten anything out of it asides from sated curiosity and leverage on Jack. The convict can give Shepard and the rest of the crew attitude if she wants to but Miranda knows that she isn't everything that she pretends.

Jack is horribly lonely. She must be to do something like that with a woman that she despises. The same could be said of Miranda, she supposes. Miranda hates playing the devil's advocate. It isn't the same. This was mere curiosity. Science. It's important to know what will push someone's buttons.

She returns to her quarters and showers again. Jack hadn't touched her in any way but Miranda is uncharacteristically warm. She ought to cool off if she intends on resting. She slips into a robe and takes a seat in front of her computer terminal. It's a bad habit she can't stop: checking any messages to make sure there aren't any last minute emergencies that need immediate attention.

There's a message from Lanteia. Miranda hurriedly clicks on the message. It cheerfully pops open to inform her that Oriana is in danger. Miranda feels nauseous. She rises from her chair unsteadily and tries to process the flood of fear that goes through her. Her father might know where Oriana is.

There will be no sleep tonight. She must begin preparation. In the morning, she'll have to go to Shepard. She'd rather not but she's all out of options.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack rarely leaves her hole to climb the stairs to main engineering but there's a new member onboard. Jack's not the curious type, she's seen it all but what the hell. The quarian has Shepard fucking giddy. Which is kinda creepy. Jack doesn't see what the big deal is about one quarian. Don't they fall apart when you touch them? Donnelly said this one helped defeat Saren but how can you tell? Not like you can see their faces.

"Is there something you want, Jack?" Tali doesn't turn away from the station she's working at, her six fingers moving dexterously over several buttons on the console. "I do have eyes," Tali tells her dryly. "I can tell when you're staring."

"Just scoping out the new recruit."

"You're the new recruit," Tali says.

Donnelly and Gabby giggle. They immediately stop when Jack glowers at them. Shepard's pet thinks she's special because she helped defeat Saren. Big fucking deal. If Tali is so fucking special then they wouldn't need the biotic-badass, would they? No point in arguing with her. "What do you know about me?"

"I know enough."

Like what? She doesn't ask. It's possible that Shepard likes to run her fucking mouth. It must be hard to lick Tali's asshole (do they have those?) with that suit of hers. "Then you know enough to stay out of my way."

"You're in  _my_ space."

Jack wonders how pissed Shepard would be if she crushed her fucking bucket head in. Great. Just what the Normandy needs. Another bitch with an attitude problem. They've already got two of those; there's no room for a third. "I'm outta here," she says and takes off. Fuck. She shouldn't bother talking to the crew members. All they do is piss her off and she doesn't know how to deal with those feelings if killing is off the table. Taking it in her youth, killing in her later youth. That's always been her way of solving things. Leave the mopey-talking shit to Kelly.

Jack exits main engineering to the cargo deck corridor. Her stomach's growling. She can't remember how long it's been since she's eaten. Sometimes she forgets that someone won't hand it to her. She's used to getting food through slots on doors, through cafeteria lines, wrists and ankles shackled and chained. The Mess Sergeant Gardner cooks food that makes her insides want to curl up and die but she's had worse. Much worse.

Jack stops in front of the panel windows to look down at the hangar where the shuttle is. Moments later she notices Miranda a few feet away from her, her eyes focused on the Kodiak shuttle.

Lately, Miranda looks like a swarm of bugs crawled up her ass. It's not much different than usual but there is a difference. Not that Jack cares. Whatever or whoever is pissing Miranda off, more power to them. Not her problem. She's here for Shepard, lie, she's here for herself, to get the intel she needs. Logasiri was a bust but hopefully the next thing will pan out. It's a work in progress but she's narrowing down her search. Soon she'll be able to find that fucked up Teltin facility and once she does she can—she can do something to make it stop. Not sure yet what it will be but she's got time to figure it out. Blowing it out of the galaxy is as good an option as any and she's good at making shit disappear.

Miranda looks at her. She doesn't tsk but the look is as good of an indication. "Is Shepard in there?"

_Go look, bitch._  She's not her messenger. "Don't know where Shepard is." Jack goes to the elevator and summons it. "Don't care." The elevator button blinks red at her. Someone else is using it. "The quarian's a pain in the ass."

"So are you. Fortunately you both have your uses." Miranda grudgingly pushes away from the spotless windows, giving the shuttle one last longing look. She leans coolly against the wall beside the elevator and folds her arms. "Shepard's relaxed some since Tali'Zorah came onboard. It looks like we'll just have to deal with her attitude problem."

So Tali's giving Miranda shit too. Well. Maybe Jack can come around to liking her after all. The enemy of her enemy isn't her friend, she doesn't have any of those, but she can put off kicking the shit out of her. "Is the Cheerleader upset that Tali isn't kissing her ass?" She chuckles. "Poor baby."

"I couldn't care less what people think of me as long as they do their job." Her voice is hard, composed. Then her chin dips slightly and she looks in the opposite direction, towards the port cargo door. Jack can't see her face. "I only wish that Shepard…"

The elevator dings cheerfully. Kasumi steps aside to let Jack in. Miranda follows. Jack glances at the Cerberus officer. Miranda's expression is muddled, infused with a hint of anxious emotion. Then it's gone and she's back to being unreadable. "What's your problem?" Jack asks.

They're not friends. They never talk. They've fought together and fucked. Jack is good at both of those things. You don't need to give a damn to do either. Far as she's concerned, there's nothing to talk about. There never is. Miranda isn't the first woman she's slept with and she sure as hell isn't going to be the last. It's not as if she'd been planning to sleep that night; it's not as if she'd done any of the fucking.

Miranda had fucked her.

The thought doesn't sit well with Jack. She wonders if the sick feeling growing in her stomach has anything to do with hunger at all. She grits her jaw.

"Mind your own business, Jack."

"Yep." Fuck her. Whatever bugs crawled up her ass can stay there and die. Jack shoves her hands into her pants pockets. The engineers are always stroking themselves about what a great piece of work the Normandy is but for a ship that can make the distance warps in next to no time, it sure has a slow fucking elevator.

"It's a good thing we aren't required to be friends." Kasumi says. Miranda and Jack turn to glare at the hooded thief. Kasumi is always smiling, always friendly. If she weren't a thief Jack wouldn't trust her at all. "Otherwise this would be really awkward." They both turn back to the elevator doors, shifting the weight in their legs. Kasumi continues and Jack wonders why the fuck she thinks they care about her commentary. "The elevator on the Normandy is really slow. Now I know why I never take it."

"Maybe you shouldn't," Miranda says testily.

They arrive at the third level. Kasumi's off the elevator before Jack notices. Jack can only remember seeing Kasumi a handful of times since she got on the Normandy. Maybe Kasumi hates spending time with people as much as Jack does but she doubts it. Jack's walking behind Miranda towards the mess hall when Miranda rounds sharply on her. "Are you following me?"

This bitch. Something's up. Miranda's not usually so on edge. Too cool to give a shit or whatever. "Because you have such a great ass?" Jack asks. The Normandy really needs to dock more often so the crew can get some fucking poontang and stop acting like they're in heat all the time. Jack sees and hears how Donnelly and some of the other Cerberus crew stare and talk about Miranda's ass and other so-called assets. Her clothes are so goddamn tight it leaves nothing to the imagination, maybe because no one would ever bother. "Get the fuck over yourself. There's food here and I'm hungry so get out of my way before I decide to eat you instead."

Miranda smirks.

An alien flush of embarrassment hits Jack. It is surprising and dizzying. She fights it, forces it into the more familiar rage. It slides into her, natural, like a needle in a vein, like so many of her early years, like so many of her adult years. She goes lightheaded and warm. Jack jerks forward, a balled fist ready to go but she doesn't swing. Miranda doesn't budge. She lifts her chin ever slightly. Any insecurity that Jack saw minutes ago is gone, maybe made up entirely. Miranda's eyes are icy. Jack drops her arm to her side; her fingers unfurl. "Screw this. You're not worth my time."

"You look awful. No change there." Miranda says in a bored way. "Go eat. Shepard's taking her time building a crew, to the point of putting other pressing matters on the backburner. At this rate the Collectors will attack and things will be left…unfinished. We all need to be at our best should that occur. There won't be time for do-overs. There won't be time for a lot, it seems."

Miranda retreats to her office. Jack's gaze follows after her. If Jack didn't know any better she'd think the bitch had feelings and that Shepard was in some way cheerfully stomping all over them. Good for her.

* * *

Damn Shepard.

The Commander is good at what she does. That can't be questioned. It took time for Miranda to admit that the Illusive Man had been right in not allowing her to implant Shepard with a chip. The Commander is doing what she's supposed to be doing: building a team, readying for the Collectors but  _damn it_ , she wishes Shepard would make time to go to Illium. She has to get to Oriana. She has to keep her safe. If she fails in doing that then…

No. She won't fail. She  _will_  get to Oriana. She  _will_  keep her safe. She's protected her from their tyrant of a 'father' for eighteen years. She won't abandon her now. She can't. The only thing crueler than being raised by the man would be to allow her the opportunity of a normal life and then let it be ripped from her. Oriana will not be made to live the life their father would impose on her. Miranda escaped. Whatever small mercies he had allowed her, he would correct with Oriana. She can't imagine how terrible an existence she would be forced to lead. No friends, no social life, always at his whims, only existing for perfection, only existing to be better, to be stronger, to be smarter, but always failing, never being good enough. Oriana wouldn't be a person; she'd be a legacy, a project, an experiment victim.

Miranda thinks of her own past and then Jack flickers into her mind. She buries both. No. It isn't the same. But it isn't any damned better, either.

She stews in her office. The Illusive Man has denied her leave to see to the matter herself. She spent two damned years bringing Shepard back to life. She'd never say that Shepard owes her (even if she does). It's stupid to think that it means something, to expect anything from Shepard; Shepard is doing exactly what she was brought back to do. Miranda's request interferes with the mission; she knows that. All of Miranda's life she's had to work for her goals, had to work harder still to prove that she's worthy of the gifts that she was given. She's only ever had herself to rely on. Nothing changes. That won't, anyway. That's fine. She isn't the kind to rely on others, she's never needed to, really. At worst, she's made alliances and established mutually beneficial working relationships.

She rakes a hand through her hair. She will not pace. She sits in front of her computer terminal and writes another message to Lanteaia.

_Keep an eye on the matter and keep me updated. I wish I could be there sooner but I can't. There's business that needs attending to. In the meantime I'll trust you to keep her safe and out of my father's hands. I'll let you know as soon as we've set course for Illium._

She sends the message and she waits.  _Goddamn it, Shepard._

Miranda spends the next few hours going over the information that she knows, she wants to have every angle covered, any problematic scenario that could creep up handled before it can manifest. If her father's agents are involved that will involve some subterfuge, maybe a gun. It isn't what she'd prefer. She doesn't resort to violence if she doesn't have to but Oriana is all that matters now. Her father won't give up Oriana without a fight. If nothing, the capital investment is enough to make him want to reclaim her.

Cerberus is just waiting for Miranda's go ahead before they can proceed with the move. Miranda wishes she could trust them to do the job on their own but she doesn't. It needs to be her, preferably with Shepard at her side. Her father is too good. It's easy to buy people. Loyalty, good faith—all of that is much harder.

"Damn it," she stands suddenly, frustratingly slamming a hand on her desk.

Shepard walks in at the same time. She has an amused and condescending smile on her face. "There's the angry face I wanted to see. I didn't know you could make expressions, Miranda."

Miranda doesn't want to hear it. Some may find Shepard's cockiness charming but she isn't one of those people. "What do you want, Shepard? I'm busy."

"Is that how you show respect to your commanding officer?" Shepard swaggers into the room and rests her hands on the edge of Miranda's desk. Her eyes have taken a red tinge to them. "We've got some free time. If you're still interested in saving that sister of yours we can set course for Illium right now."

Miranda's cautious. The Commander is known to be disingenuous when she's after something. "You're sure?"

Shepard nods. "Just say the word. I've already spoken with Joker. Anyway," Shepard continues, "there are two crew members on Illium. We'll take care of your business first but we might as well kill three birds with one stone."

The aggravation that had welled in Miranda, making her uneasy and at a loss, slips away from her. It doesn't matter the reason, as long as they're going to Illium. She's not going to get trapped in the semantics like others would. No matter the danger that still awaits, she is relieved that they can finally begin to make preparations. "Set course. I'll notify the proper parties," she says sliding back into her desk chair and pulling up numerous windows on her computer terminals. Shepard is withdrawing when Miranda looks up to her. "This means a lot, Commander. I won't forget it."

* * *

Illium: the rich assholes' version of Omega. It's shiny and bright, flashy and clean on the outside but the crooks here are worse than anyone on that asteroid. Omega doesn't give you the option of pawning shit off on other people. You want something, you gotta spill blood with your own hands. And when it comes to wanting, it's usually about creds. Gotta take lives to make money. People have issues with that in the beginning until they get used to a certain lifestyle, then all bets are off. Some people kill with a bullet or a knife. That's honest. The people on Ilium do it with contracts and a pen, with fucking fine print. The pussies' way but meaner. A bullet can take your life in a split second; a fucking contract kills you slow like a cancer, for years, the rest of your life, even. Jack fucking hates Illium. Miranda admires its architecture and the strides the Asari and planet have made in a short amount of time. Miranda needs to get her fucking priorities straight but hey; Jack's a killer so she doesn't have much room to talk.

They're heading over to the Eternity bar which is good. She can use a drink. Miranda's ready to meet with whoever the fuck her contact is and Jack can check out then. No rush. Jack's stepped over to a railing, admiring the view; she may hate it but it's easy on the eyes. Jack turns her head to see when she hears Miranda's accented voice go slightly louder than is her custom. Miranda is standing in front of Shepard. Looks like there's been a disagreement. Miranda is obviously irritated. Jack perks. Miranda moves away from the crowd and Shepard reluctantly follows. Jack goes to them. If Shepard's going to piss Miranda off, she doesn't want to miss a minute of it.

Miranda is shaking her head. "It wasn't easy asking for your help on this. This is important to me and you bring her," she jabs her chin in Jack's direction, "along? Is this some kind of a joke to you?"

"Have you forgotten I'm doing you a favor? My mission, my squad. You should be glad I'm taking the time to do this." Shepard lifts an arm dismissively at Miranda before picking up on the fact that Miranda is near livid. She lays on her asshole's brand of charm. "Relax, Miranda. Isn't Jack the kind of crazy bitch you want by your side when dealing with the people threatening your sister?"

Sister? Miranda has family? Must be nice. Doesn't matter. "Takes a crazy bitch to know a crazy bitch, Shepard."

Shepard is exasperated. "Shut it, Jack."

Miranda grimaces. "This operation is delicate and she's anything but." She takes a slow breath and walks to the railings to look over Illium, to think it over. "But…maybe you have a point. Fine. But I'm in charge," she looks pointedly at Jack, "you follow my orders. There isn't going to be a repeat of Logasiri."

Jack shrugs. "I'm along for the high. Just tell me who to kill."

Miranda's eyes skirt to Jack, linger, before she straightens and turns to Shepard. "Let's just get going. We can't afford to waste any more time; Oriana's in danger. I'm not going to let anything happen to her."

The rest of the walk to Eternity is fast. Jack wouldn't mind browsing some of the shops but Miranda isn't having it and Shepard is being surprisingly hard assed. Whatever. She gets a drink from the bartender, a matriarch that Jack wouldn't mind partying with, eavesdrops on a conversation with a turian who clearly wants to take it to the next level with his quarian friend and watches an asari strip for a bachelor party. Not bad for a couple of minutes in a bar, but fairly routine and downright boring compared to some of the other shit she's seen in life. Eventually the boredom gets to her and she meanders her way to where Miranda and Shepard are meeting with Lanteia. Jack hangs out against the door and listens to the situation. Doesn't really know what's going on but no one gives a shit about how smart she is. She's just along to kill. Suits her fine. She doesn't want to get involved in people's problems anyway.

But she can't help but think. Whoever this Niket is, it's someone Miranda trusts. Jack can smell a set-up from a mile away. From the way Shepard questions Miranda, she can too. But the cheerleader is insistent about whoever the guy is. Gives him full access to her dear sister's itinerary. Stupid move. The three of them head to the car; Miranda's grateful to have Shepard as backup. Jack doesn't blame her. There's no crazier bitch she'd rather have at her side during a fight. Hell, Shepard could probably give her tips on killing.

"Are you  _really_ sure about Niket?" Jack asks as they walk. "You can buy anyone for the right amount of creds."

Miranda gives a few solid shakes of her head. "Not Niket. He's better than that. Maybe you don't have anyone you can rely on and I can't say that I've ever trusted many myself but I trust him. He hasn't been compromised."

"Just keep your trigger finger ready," Jack says and slides into the backseat of the car. Miranda and Shepard climb into the front. The night lights of Illium shine on the rearview mirror and Jack can see the concern that creeps into Miranda's features. She doesn't know why Miranda's worried. She's got Shepard and her along for their little adventure. Whoever's stupid enough to fuck with them is going to die and that's that.

What she doesn't get is this: how can someone as smart as the cheerleader not see when she's been stabbed in the back? She never figured Miranda for the trusting type.

* * *

Something isn't right. Miranda knows it but doesn't want to believe it. The thought nags her as they navigate through the various cargo bays fighting waves of mercenaries. First things first: stay alive and get to Oriana. There isn't any time to question herself or Niket but Shepard is asking questions, has been throughout the entire mission. It's one thing for Jack to contradict her but she can't afford for the Commander to have doubts.

There isn't much time for explanations but they can manage a few minutes in the first elevator they get to. It isn't how she'd choose to go about it but now isn't the time for her vanity. This is about Oriana and as difficult as it is to explain her sister or her own mired past there is no other way. She needs everyone on board for this.

She takes a breath. "Shepard…I think I owe you an explanation. Oriana is my twin, genetically. But my father…grew her when I was a teenager." The words, spoken aloud, sound more horrific than they actually are. Or maybe they're appropriately horrific. "She was meant to replace me. I couldn't let my father do to her what he did to me. So I rescued her."

"'Rescued her?'" Jack says dryly. "So what exactly is the difference between what you've done and I've done? The credits in our bank accounts?"

"I didn't do it for money, for one," Miranda retorts.

Shepard looks to Jack but decides she isn't worth responding to. "I can understand choosing to go your own way," Shepard says to Miranda who glares at the numbers on the elevator. Shepard doesn't understand a damned thing. "but you stole a young child from her father."

"You were a Cerberus bitch from the beginning," Jack rests into the elevator wall looking relaxed and arrogant. Her arms are crossed, her head tilted back. "Kidnapping's pretty low-brow. Couldn't afford to buy Daddy off like you could everyone else for your fucked up Cerberus experiments? Poor little rich girl."

Miranda snaps at her. "If you knew my father you would understand." She won't have this conversation with Jack.  _Damn it, Shepard, why did you have to bring her?_  This isn't anything Miranda would ever willingly reveal. To have to do so on an elevator while they try to rescue the only thing that has ever mattered to her… It's almost too much. "I wasn't the first one he made. I was only the first one he kept." If she hadn't left, would she be alive now? Would Oriana? Would they both have been replaced? "I was brought up with no friends, pushed to meet impossible demands. I wasn't a daughter to him, I was…" What had she been…? A project? A trophy? Not family. Not really. She had been data. Genes. Clay to be molded. Had he loved her? Is there anything to her, anything of her own that he cared for? Or was it all defect? She doesn't know. "I don't know what I was. Oriana has had a normal life. I made the right decision."

They have to understand that. Jack has no witty comeback. They exit the elevator and wade through another area of enemies and mechs. They not only have to worry about cargo dropping on top of them but explosive crates as well. Every shot takes too long, every enemy hurled and defeated slows them. Why can't this go any faster? Miranda won't be reckless. She can't afford to make mistakes, not ever, but especially not now. What she hears over the lines of radio communication isn't encouraging. If Niket sold her out… No. He couldn't have. Shepard has more questions about him and Miranda's forced to go through more explanations. She can hear herself getting more defensive. The possibility that the only man she has trusted, the only one she could really consider a friend has betrayed her… It burrows deep. She bites her lip and curses the second elevator to the cargo bay, wanting it to go faster.

When they reach the top the truth is clear. Shepard and Jack were right. She had been wrong. She had been wrong about the one thing she had to be right about.

Jack's upper lip curls in disgust. "Figures. You can buy everyone. Just like I said. Your 'friend' sold you out, Cheerleader. Don't blame him. But wouldn't blame you if you killed him. That's fucked up."

Betrayal stabs into Miranda like a fleet of knives. A conversation that changes nothing, that changes everything, ensues with Niket. Every word is a nail in his coffin, is a stab at her self-worth, at her identity, at what she had thought mattered. Her father had been able to buy everything, not only the best genes and biotics for her but also the only paragon of friendship she'd ever believed in. How could she have been so foolish?

Miranda is breathless but she doesn't hesitate. She has the necessary information. She has the last loose end ready to be disposed of. She can't allow it.  _Won't_  allow it. She will not risk Oriana, not for her feelings and attachments. Niket won't be used against her or Oriana again.  _Goddamn it, Niket._

She pulls the trigger. He falls over easier than the rest. He knew what she could do, what she would do. Why did he make her do it? It wasn't a test; it was suicide.

She doesn't have time to mourn, to think. There are more immediate matters at hand: making sure she stays alive long enough to ensure Oriana gets to safety, but before that, there's an asari bitch to take care of.

The fight with Enyala and the Eclipse mercenaries is a blur, more loose ends. At the end they achieve the predictable outcome: she, Shepard and Jack are alive, Enyala and her mercenaries are dead.

What's left to be done is simple, protocol. She'll make sure that Oriana and her family are safely transferred. A sweep of the parameter reveals no Eclipse mercenaries left. Miranda is left with a glimpse of her twin, her younger sister. The other her. The superior clone? Damn it all. It's complicated. Miranda wonders what might have been if things had been different. Oriana looks back at her. It's best to not talk to her. She can't risk it. She won't endanger Oriana for her own selfishness. It isn't about what she wants; it isn't about her feelings.

Shepard's convinced. "Okay. Let's go," She steps back into the elevator.

"Wait, that's it?" Jack asks. She doesn't go to the elevator yet. "We just juiced a fuckton of guys for this bitch." She looks at Miranda. "You're walking away just like that?"

Miranda doesn't know which 'bitch' Jack refers to. "We're not all so emotionally stunted as you are." She says. Whatever else she was going to say, she doesn't say it. Her voice is growing weaker and she can feel the trembling of her chin. Jack gets into the elevator. She won't cry, damn it. Her eyes fill with tears as the elevator doors close.

"This is bullshit." Jack continues. "What a waste of time."

Miranda fixates on the elevator numbers and memorizes every detail of Oriana's face. She wipes discreetly at her eyes. Jack is looking at her. They both quickly look away at something else.

Goodbye, Oriana.

* * *

Jack's slurping on a cup of noodles when she sees the commander. Jack coils the noodles around the fork and chews slowly. She's seen Kasumi do it with chopsticks but fuck that. It takes too damn long. Shepard sidles up next to her on the bar stool and Jack pulls her limbs closer to herself. It freaks her out when people sit too fucking close.

"Any reason you're giving me the stink eye, Jack?" Shepard asks, pointing Gardner to the liquor she wants. The Mess Sergeant pours Shepard a drink, a bright blue color, and sets it in front of the commander. "Let me clarify: any  _new_ reason?"

There isn't a reason. She hasn't been doing that. It's just—since Miranda's personal shit on Illium, she's been thinking. Miranda was 'kidnapping' Oriana around the time that Jack was being 'rescued' by Cerberus assholes who lied to whatever woman gave birth to her and told her she was dead.

Jack hadn't figured the Cerberus bitch cared about anyone. She knew how the situation in Illium was going to play out. What she hadn't expected was Miranda's fucked up history or seeing her so fucking upset by something as every day as betrayal. Or exhibiting any type of emotion towards something that wasn't work related. She fucking  _cried_ , for fuck's sake. Miranda's still just a Cerberus bitch. It's just that—maybe it isn't as simple as it always looks or whatever.

"No reason, Shepard." She has a bite of noodles. The broth is too salty, an unhealthy orange toxic color but there's nothing else to eat. Nothing edible. She could go back to drinking her way through the day but the commander probably wouldn't approve. "Maybe you could have pushed the Cheerleader to talk to her sister? You're always trying to come at me with that touchy-feely shit." And she hates it.

"You see any attempt at conversation as 'touchy-feely'," Shepard takes a drink of whatever it is Gardner handed to her. "Miranda's a grown woman and can make her own decisions. If she wanted to talk to Oriana she would have. She didn't need me to tell her what to do."

"She wanted to talk to her. Any dumbass could see that."

Shepard looks at Jack curiously before chuckling. "I'll be damned. I didn't know you cared, Jack."

Jack bites down hard on the fork and swears. How the fuck did she mess up  _chewing_? Her tooth hurts. Her hunger dissipates. She slides off the stool, annoyed, the cup of noodles in her hand like a weapon. "Didn't know you made jokes,  _Shepard_."

"I don't. You want to hold hands with Miranda? Be my guest."

"Fuck you, Commander." She throws the empty cup of noodles at Shepard who only shifts her head to the side. It misses her completely. Maybe Shepard's used to her tantrums. She doesn't even look bothered by it. Shepard's pissing her off. "When are we going? I'm getting tired of being onboard. You promised me action." Sitting around with all the thoughts in her head is making her go crazy. Crazier.

"So leave that hole you stay in. I'm meeting with Liara soon. Figured I'd bring Garrus and Tali so we can all get caught up." She finishes her drink and slides the shot glass back at Gardner. "You do… whatever it is that you do when you aren't killing people." She looks at the Styrofoam cup on the floor. "And pick up your fucking mess."

Jack settles her hands on her hips in a show of defiance. She waits until Shepard's left the level then she picks up the cup. Gardner knows better than to give her any fucking lip about it. If he tries she'll shove the cup of noodles up his ass with the fork still attached. Being on the fucking Normandy is getting to her. These people are getting to her. Not all of them are that bad—and that's just fucking weird. What's she thinking? She needs to focus on herself, no one else. Let someone get close, let someone talk to her long enough and they'll start thinking she's a friend. She isn't. Or she'll start thinking someone's a friend. They aren't.

She can't be trusted. No one can be trusted. At the end of the day it's always about your own fucking skin. Which is what really pisses her off about Miranda. She looks after mission objectives, Cerberus interests, Shepard's mission. Is she really that detached? Yeah, probably. Frigid bitch. She doesn't get it.

She's walked into Miranda's office before she knows it, the fucking cup of noodles still in her hand. She throws it away in Miranda's waste bin and gets a sarcastic 'thank you' from Miranda in return. "Your sister's pretty hot." Jack didn't see a family resemblance, luckily for Oriana.

Miranda is taken aback by the familial mention. Jack wonders how long it took for Miranda to push her away, bury her somewhere deep inside where she isn't easily accessible, where she can forget her. Jack could offer medications, drugs that Miranda could take to forget but Miranda isn't the sort to do it. Hazy and vague would probably scare the shit out of her.

"You're not her type." Miranda says. She sighs and her chair slides backward, not even an inch, but Jack knows when work is being put away, however briefly. Jack moves further into the office but doesn't sit. "It's unfortunate you had to see that."

"Embarrassed?"

"No. It isn't your business."

"Fuck you." Yeah, Shepard had given her access to the Cerberus files but how much access did she really get? She doesn't fully trust Shepard yet and for all she knows Miranda's hiding files by the day. That wasn't part of the deal but you always get screwed on deals, at least if you aren't the one holding the power. Power's more than your ability to kick ass. Like the Illusive Fuck and Miranda are so hard up about saying, information, intelligence, that's power. "You know everything about me."

"Not everything." Miranda stands. "Shepard was right. You did help clear the mercenaries faster than others might have. I could thank you."

Jack shrugs. "Don't want your thanks."

"So why are you here? You've never visited before."

"Probably because I can't stand you, Cerberus bitch."

"Then what do you want?" Miranda enunciates every word carefully as if doing so will get Jack to pay attention. Jack knows she hasn't answered the question. The truth is, she doesn't know why she's here or what the fuck she wants. She does know it isn't what Shepard said. She's beginning to suspect that Shepard's a psycho. That's the only way you get results sometimes. "Unlike you, I have a job." Miranda says. "It requires more than being let out of my cage to fight."

Jack doesn't react to the words but she feels them like a kick in the gut. She thinks of Pragia and Teltin. The only time she was allowed out of her room was to kill people in an arena, to fight other kids like her. Those little fucks never stood a chance. Every time she was out she was more powerful. Every time she was out it felt better and better to kill. She was good at it. People like to do the things they're good at. She only got better at it throughout the years. She learned to like it more. It's fucked up. Motherfucking Cerberus. And now she's here working for the fucking assholes that fucked her entire life. She scowls at Miranda. Letting her out of her cage, the bitch. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

"What are you talking about?" That same, tired way of asking.

"I think I'm starting to figure you out. You think if you don't talk about it, it doesn't exist? That's not how it works, Precious, nice as that would be. I don't want to waste my time doing this dance so I'll just get to it. You fucked it up with Oriana. If you want to talk to your sister, talk to your sister. Don't be a fucking pussy about it. You don't let the Commander make those kinds of decisions. That's your life—it has nothing to do with the fucking mission."

Miranda hesitates, quiet for a moment before forging forward. "It isn't your concern."

"Maybe. But you dragged me along to kill people for you, to kill people for her, so yeah, I'm gonna throw in my opinion." Jack takes a seat and crosses a leg crudely over the over. She drapes an arm on the armrest. "What's the matter? Scared you don't measure up to the new and improved model?"

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" Miranda moves to her bedroom to sit on one of the dull colored monochrome couches.

"Yep." Jack eventually stands and hovers near the door to the room. She isn't going to have a fucking conversation with a wall. Miranda's room is bare, lifeless. If it were to suggest anything about the woman it's that she's black and white, all business, no fun. On the other hand, Jack can admit that the new look Miranda's been sporting lately suits her or doesn't suit her, depending on how you look at it. She looks less like a whore, anyway. She doesn't know why Miranda moved to her room, maybe because it's less intimate than her office. Likely, she's just trying to get Jack to go away but she's not done bothering her yet.

"I don't want you talking about Oriana as if she's something off an assembly line. That isn't what she is."

Miranda reclines against the couch, a hard, solitary line creasing her eyebrow. Jack wonders about her movements, always graceful, hinging on provocative. What the fuck is she thinking? Her mind floods with images and sensations of the night in engineering. Fuck it. Fuck that. Jack makes a fist as if to intimidate the thoughts. "Isn't it? She was made." In a fucking lab. "Just like you. Just like me." Different methods but both just lab rats in the end.

Miranda's jaw tenses. "It isn't the same. You were born. Oriana and I…" Jack arches an eyebrow and waits. Miranda gives a small shake of her head, the matter dropped. She trails an idle hand along the stale couch material. "She's more than something that was 'created'. She's normal. Say what you will about you or me."

Jack scoffs. "What's so great about normal?"

"I think we both know. We both wish we knew." Miranda looks at her.

Jack averts her eyes. Normal. She never had a chance. Kidnapped when she was a kid, raised in a fucking lab with fucked up experiments being done on her, sold off as a slave later on. Making friends, killing friends, joining a cult. So many chances for her to give 'normal' a shot and she always fell short. Whatever. What's the point in thinking about it? Not like she can change any of that shit now. "You only laid eyes on her a few days ago. Why are you so attached?"

"I've monitored her for as long as I've known her. I've kept track of her every movement, every achievement, any interest she's taken in a boy, any talent she's excelled at."

"You're so predictable." Tracking progress. She remembers those scientists' faces, fucking beaming when she had another 'breakthrough'. Every 'breakthrough' usually involved breaking someone else into pieces or leaving them nothing but a puddle. "Your own sister was just another fucking project."

"No, she wasn't..!" Miranda gets to her feet. The black leather is shiny and distracting. Jack would rather look at her than listen to her. Then again, so would anyone else. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

"So don't. I'm not interested." Jack turns to go.

"I was proud of her, damn it." Miranda says. Jack stalls. "I still am. My little sister. My twin. She has a family that loves her, that appreciates her. She has the life and choices that I never did. Maybe I wouldn't live it the same way… but it's nice that she has the option."

"Huh." Jack reclines against the doorway again. "So all that shit on Illium with the tears and the brave speeches wasn't an act. Didn't figure you gave a damn about anything, Cheerleader. Except Cerberus." Now that she's said the words, she doesn't know what the point was. Miranda's still a bitch. So what if she cares about one thing?

"I'm full of surprises, Jack. I just don't like to show my hand."

"Why not? You show off everything else."

"Ah, another thinly veiled attack on my wardrobe. Clever. At least I wear a shirt."

"Whatever." She's going when Miranda grabs her arm. The cold, synthetic material of her glove on Jack's skin is jarring. Or maybe it's the gentle, suggestive pressure that gets to her. "What do you want?" Jack asks, she sounds like a little girl who has run into the boogeyman. Miranda doesn't say anything. Jack pulls her arm away. Miranda's hand falls back to her side. "That guy you killed, Niket? Was he your boyfriend or were you strictly fuck buddies?"

Once again, emotion sparks on Miranda's face before it is swiftly replaced by nonchalance. "Neither. Never was. It doesn't matter what he was. He's dead now."

"That was smart of you. I would have done the same."

"Is that supposed to reassure me? Don't compare us." She laughs softly. "What a joke."Jack frowns. Miranda's a pompous bitch. Always has been, always will be. Jack pushes her. She's unaware that she does so with a fist laced with biotic power. Miranda flies back, falling to the bed. It's unexpected for the both of them. Miranda lifts on her elbows. Jack glares at her. She's angry, angrier than she's been in a long time but she doesn't get why. She doesn't know how Miranda always manages to make her feel so goddamn stupid. "So that's why you're here," Miranda says. "You could have said so. We'd have saved ourselves a good deal of conversation."

"That's not why I'm here," Jack steps closer, her form crackling with unshed energy demanding to be spent.

"Why, then? Are you worried about me?"

"I couldn't give two shits about you."

"Good. I don't need your concern. I don't want you chasing after me, either. What happened in the engine room is best forgotten. It was nothing. An experiment. Boredom. You understand."

"Yeah. I understand." Jack goes to the bed with a sneer on her lips. She rests a knee on the bed before shoving Miranda back. Miranda's fast, sitting up so quickly that she's pressed to Jack's chest by the time the woman straddles her. Miranda watches her cautiously. "There's no point in screwing around," Jack's fingers are on the buttons of Miranda's bodysuit, ripping it back from her shoulders. "So I'll admit it: I'm here to fuck." It's the only explanation that makes sense. She can get down with that. Sex is a different game from caring, an easier one. "Your daddy bought you the best genes money could buy. Your personality's lousy but I'm not here for your personality." She breathes into her ear, "When people talk about your great qualities they always leave that part out."

Jack sees the hurt in Miranda's eyes. Jack's sure that Miranda isn't personally offended by what Jack just said; Jack's opinion isn't important enough to matter. But Miranda knows the truth when she hears it. Knows that she's nothing but a good looking husk with no other redeemable qualities. At least she has a good looking husk.

Jack seizes the opportunity. She kisses Miranda hard, tearing the rest of the Cerberus uniform from her and trapping her beneath. Miranda looks different without the gear. Jack can't put her finger on it. It isn't how she's built. Jack can't say that she's got any complaints about that. She'd be lying if she did. It's something in her eyes.

Doesn't matter.

Jack ditches her clothes, too. She wants Miranda to see who she's getting dirty with, the fucked up convict, the experiment, the girl you never take home to meet the parents, the filthy secret. Jack wants Miranda to be ashamed. She spreads Miranda's legs apart and presses tightly to her center until they both breathe unsteadily and make sounds that barely register as human. Miranda's hands are warm on her back, her fingernails dig deep into her skin, reaching for her insides. She can feel Miranda worming in, not just her body but into her mind. Every bone in Jack's body tells her to stop this right now and leave. But this is nothing. This is just the Cheerleader, no one to be afraid of. Jack holds Miranda's face in her hands, makes her look at her when she fucks her.

Miranda does and then closes her eyes. Jack doesn't know how that makes her feel. But she's not good at 'feeling' so it isn't a big deal. Guesses she wouldn't really want to look at herself either. Jack kisses her deep. Miranda's mouth is hot and soft.

* * *

Maybe she needed that.

Miranda can't deny that she's been frustrated lately, wound up tight. Her mind is at ease now that Oriana is safe but being assured that her sister is safe doesn't mean that she won't carry the regret with her. She knows that she did the right thing with Niket and with Oriana. She still wishes it'd turned out differently. The hurt isn't going to disappear right away. It took her longer than it should have to learn that.

Miranda sits up on the bed, the sheets draped over her. She hadn't meant for any of that to happen with Jack. Not again. The woman could be surprisingly…persistent. Miranda had only thought that Jack was good at one thing: killing. It turns out she's good at one other thing.

It doesn't matter. It shouldn't happen again. It was different before. Miranda had been in control and Jack… hadn't. "What am I doing?" She mutters. She leaves the bed and heads to the shower. The tall, rectangular steel hold is clinical and sterile. She should feel safe here. She should feel safe now that the business with Oriana is behind her. But she doesn't. And it has nothing to do with the Collectors. Her mind goes to her recent encounter with the young biotic. Miranda had never anticipated Jack would enter her thoughts while she was showering. It's disturbing. Luckily, no one ever has to know.

Miranda's aware that what's likely getting to her is the conversation they had about their experiences. Miranda has never spoken so intimately to anyone about that. Not even to Commander Shepard or Jacob. The Illusive Man only has basic details. Why Jack? Why the one person who above all hates what Miranda represents? On the surface it may appear as if she and Jack share things in common but… they don't. Not really. Jack will never understand how much Cerberus has given Miranda, how often it has saved her and her sister. Trying to explain it would be pointless.

Why had she let her in her office? Why had she taken Jack's arm when she'd tried to leave? All the little mistakes are beginning to add up. She closes her eyes and lets the cold water wash over her. She's overthinking it. It's her job to overthink things but not here, not now, not about this. It doesn't warrant this level of thought. Jack isn't worth thinking about.

Is she lonely…? Maybe having lost Oriana and Niket are the last painful reminders that outside of her work she's alone. No father, no sister, her only friend is dead, she can't have any children of her own…

Miranda cranks the water temperature until the freezing drops run along her and she's shaking.

She isn't lonely. Even if she were, it wouldn't matter. Sex is one thing. It's human, it's nature, as essential as breathing. Anything else, anything more is extravagance. Jack is incapable of even knowing what the word means. Miranda doesn't settle for anything less than the best. She certainly isn't going to compromise her state of mind or the mission to dabble with a tattooed, mentally unstable, psychotic junky convict.

It's time for her to stop screwing around. Oriana has been taken care of. Whatever it is that passed between her and Jack, whatever their possibilities, connection, dynamic… it doesn't matter. The threat of the Collectors is too real. Nothing else is allowed to interfere with her focus on the mission; that includes Subject Zero.

Miranda will stay away from her. Easy enough. She breathes a sigh of relief, her breath smoky in the chilly metal room.

* * *

Jack sits in the darkness. Stupid shit has been creeping into her head lately. Stuff she hasn't thought about in forever. People she had wiped from the abysses of her mind. The 'friends' she had. The other people who wanted more. Murtock. People who died so she could live. People she killed so she could live. Everything is coming out. She knocked on Miranda for her out of sight out of mind bullshit but this. Why does she keep expecting the darkness to fix it? It still exists inside of her. Doesn't matter if the light never touches it. That's why Logasiri didn't matter. But Teltin and Pragia, that will matter. She's talked to Shepard about it. Once Shepard gets off her ass and once Jack's there, once she's blown it to pieces…

She buries her face in her hands. What the hell is she doing? She should get out. Go upstairs, talk to people. But she hates everyone so that isn't an option. Not really gung-ho on running into Miranda. Or fucking Kasumi who's been grinning like an idiot at her lately. Did she see the scratches on her back? Does she know something? Or is she just fucking crazy? Could be both.

She hates feeling like a little girl. She'd thought finding the coordinates to the Teltin facility would solve it, or half of it. But lately all she feels is lost and small. Afraid. Nervous. Anxious. Every terrible feeling is surfacing. She doesn't know how to deal with it. Is it always going to be like this? Jack the biotic bitch against the galaxy? And once she's wiped everything out, what then?

Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck it all.

She presses her back to the uncomfortable steel wall. The cot gets to be hard on her ass and tailbone after a while. Not everyone has a big ass bed. Not that she needs one. Or would put it to use as often. Jack trails a thumb along her eyebrow as if she were only smudging paint on her face. What the fuck is she thinking about beds for? She needs her head examined. Not that she doesn't know what the docs would say.

She hears footsteps. Knows who they belong to by the weight and the measure of them. Jack straightens before resuming her normal posture. Who cares? Miranda comes around the corner, close enough so that the red light of engineering falls on her. Jack glances at her. Been a while. They're smart and keep away from one another. It was stupid to think and do otherwise. She doesn't know why Miranda's here. The whole point to her space is that there isn't much through traffic. Jack can't think of an opener but Miranda saves her the trouble.

"Shepard told me what you found."

"Shepard likes to talk."

"She asked me to come along."

Jack looks slowly to her and then away. Fucking bitch. Whatever. Miranda can come along. She can see what her precious Cerberus did to her. She can try to deny it then. "Won't argue with Shepard about it. Won't change the end result. As long as I can get in and do what I have to everything's square."

"Shepard said you plan on blowing it up."

"Yep."

"What will that help?"

"I don't need to tell you that." She squares her shoulders against the wall. And then she tells her. "You kill people to have peace of mind; I'll blow up some empty buildings. We have different ways of coping. Either way, it's none of your fucking business."

"I don't know what you're expecting to find there but whatever it is—"

"Save your excuses. Don't try to tell me what Cerberus did. I lived it for over ten years. You don't need to keep lying your ass off about it. I get it. Cerberus helped you and your kid sister. All they did was help themselves to me and my power. You have no idea what kind of torture they put me through. But hey. Who the fuck cares, right? It's just Jack. No one important."

"Nobody said that."

"They did it for more than a decade and Cerberus let them. You keep defending them. No one  _has_  to say it."

Miranda takes a seat next to her. Jack doesn't move. She doesn't have to look at her to know where she is. She's too close, either way. Jack rests her arms on her knees, lets them slip to her side before she pulls her knees to her chest and keeps her arms wrapped around them. Minutes pass without either one of them saying anything.

"I just need it gone," Jack says. She brings a hand to her head, feeling the itchy, bug-crawling-over-her feeling. Fuck. Miranda looks thoughtful about something. Jack doesn't know what. She just knows that she wants Miranda to go right away. She's got instincts and something's coming. Maybe Miranda doesn't know it but Jack does. She braces herself but doesn't know why she does. If Miranda tries something, she'll kill her.

"I hope it helps." Then: "One other thing. What we've done… We can't do it anymore." Jack doesn't say anything. "Did you hear me?"

Jack's throat clamps. Her fingers dig lightly into her knees. Her words remain breezy. "Not deaf, Cheerleader. I heard you."

"Neither one of us can afford distractions. The Collectors are coming. We need everyone at their best. I can't have the members of this crew questioning my professionalism or my priorities. It could cost lives."

"Gotcha." Jack waits until Miranda's standing before she looks at her. "It wasn't bad. It wasn't great. I'd preferred to have killed you but whatever. It's done. I was never planning on making it habit. I've got better shit to do." Miranda looks back evenly but Jack turns her eyes to the table across from her. She remembers how she used to hide under the tables when she got scared.

Miranda leaves. Jack sits in the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hm. Went back and forth for a while whether this would be the last chapter, whether there would be a next chapter, just an epilogue or a one shot later to catch things up. Still undecided. I will likely one shot it later (but this was also meant to be a short one shot). For now, I will tentatively call this completed and start writing the other ME stories I've been planning to do. As always, thanks everyone for the reviews! They are really encouraging. And eternal gratitude to my proofie th1nm1nt!

A/N 2: I ended up doing two follow ups. Actually, I think technically three because there was a collision that sort of wrapped everything up until the end of Mass Effect 3.

Do people want those?

* * *

 

There are two squad members that need to be monitored more than others, the ones that won't allow history to be forgotten and whose forgiveness can't be bought through credits. The first is Tali'Zorah nar Rayya. Fortunately the Normandy SR-2 is appropriately fortified through various security protocols so that she can't cause a great deal of damage on the ship should she endeavor to become a saboteur. If she is foolish enough to take up physical arms, a few carefully placed shots would make it easy work to dispatch her. Ultimately, she won't be a problem. Subject Zero, on the other hand, isn't as easy to handle. Her blatant and openly hostile distrust of Cerberus is problematic. She will not be as easy to eradicate as the quarian.

The Illusive Man has placed Miranda in charge of such matters. Miranda trusts both women, more or less, though she knows she hasn't earned either of their loyalties. That's what Shepard's for. They're low on Miranda's priority list but it is still something that must be attended to. It isn't easy to hack into Subject Zero's amp. Subject Zero is smarter than she looks and takes the necessary precautions. If Miranda weren't so adept at hacking and overcoming obstacles, Jack might be able to stow away the secrets she wants to keep. Her searches are mostly irrelevant and predictable. She plays poker on the extranet and loses credits. She writes poetry.

Miranda pauses.

Jack writes poetry. The revelation makes Miranda's smile undefined, hedging between beguilement and condescension. "Cute," she says dryly. She twines her fingers, casually resting her elbows on the desk before leaning forward to read closely on the computer monitor.

_My soul Burns_

_With a fire of darkness_

_Quenched only in the pain_

_Of loneliness_

_I hold my breath waiting_

_Until spots appear black as the past_

_And fill my lungs with lies of hope_

_I mark myself_

_Black and jagged_

_To cover the scars_

_That make me a monster_

_A warning_

_This is not a place of honor_

_No esteemed dead are buried here_

She's submitted it to a publishing site. Charming. Miranda reads the poem several times over though there is no need for deeper analysis. The work is juvenile. Awful, really. Jack does not appreciate nuance or subtlety. Still… It is honest and given the author…

Miranda minimizes the window. She has real work to do. She reads various reports that come in from other Cerberus facilities and sends a string of directives and updates to her contacts onboard the Citadel and throughout the rest of the galaxy. Her work is time sensitive and high attention to detail is a must. Distractions will only interfere.

Jack's poem continues to blink at her from the corner of the screen, needlessly garnering her attention. Miranda considers opening the window but decides against it, closing it altogether.

* * *

Jack doesn't like how the asari looks at her. What the fuck is the point of a Justicar? They're just overrated prison guards, c-sec officers, spectres. Samara has eyes like a blind woman but Jack can read her. She thinks that after they've killed the Collectors she can take Jack out and the right the wrongs of the galaxy or some shit. Fuck that. Samara may be a thousand some year old Asari but no one can predict crazy. Jack has the edge. Not that she's holding her breath on anyone jumping in to help her if it comes to that.

No one fucking cares about her. Which is fine. She doesn't care about them. Caring is just a virus that infects you until you break down. Before you know it, you've been fucked and you're dead.

It's all fucked up. Shepard has killed who knows how many people. It's probably in the thousands. So has Cerberus. So has Garrus. Samara, Thane, Zaeed, but she's the one who always gets shit about it. The others don't brag about it like she does, maybe, but what difference does it make? It's not like she wants to be like this.

She rolls on her side on the cot. She's tired of the Normandy, tired of this hole. She can't take the ship and go joyriding, much as she'd like. They still have to go to Pragia. Whenever she asks Shepard she gets 'soon' as a response. Maybe Shepard would hurry it the fuck up if Jack slammed her head into a wall a few times.

Jack cradles her head in her hands and pulls her limbs close to her. Everything is getting to be too much. At least when she's out and killing she doesn't have all this fucking time to think. What kind of a pussy can't outrun this shit? It happened years ago. She's over it. Doesn't matter.

Fuck. She squeezes her eyes shut but no matter how hard she does she can't block the memories. She can't go on like this.  _Fuck that. Nothing can stop me._ Then why does she feel so fucking weak and worthless? She knows what her biotics are worth but her. Who gives a shit about her?

She needs drugs. No. She wants drugs. They'll make all the buzzing in her head, all the light feathery, scratching wings go away. She stands with renewed determination.

* * *

Nobody works the hours that she does, not even Chakwas. Perhaps it's an off night. The two women scarcely know each other but they have shared a drink on occasion. On very rare occasions. Admittedly, the prospect is appealing. Miranda seldom has company. Work hours always pass swiftly but her body feels the weight of a long day. Sitting in a chair for countless hours doesn't behoove her but there's no other place to get her work done and there is alwayswork.

The lights are on in the med-bay despite the dimmed lights of the rest of the level. Miranda goes to the medical bay, the doors sliding open at her presence. Chakwas isn't there. Jack is looking through the medicine cabinets, pulling out bottles and vials, studying them, setting some back while keeping others to the side. Miranda sees several syringes that have been prepped, their covers lined perfectly to the side of them. Three are filled, two are empty. The doors shut behind Miranda but Jack doesn't turn back to look at her, continuing to survey the collection at her disposal. "Drugs?" Unsurprising but disappointing. The two are not mutually exclusive.

"Got something to say about it, Cheerleader?"

"Plenty. I'll save my usual bit about priorities and the mission, the lack of authorization you have for what you're doing or how crucial it is that we have all available medication ready in case of an emergency. You don't care about any of those things. You don't care about anything but yourself." Jack's head turns slightly to the side, enough to offer a scant glimpse of her profile before she turns back to the cabinet. "I'll skip to the part where I tell you your behavior is pathetic." Jack's shoulder's tense even if her movements don't stop. "Having difficulty passing the hours without altering your physiological state?"

"The Cheerleader lecturing me on alterations. Funny."

Miranda frowns. Jack unscrews a bottle of pills and takes a few before setting them back on the cabinet. Miranda mentally tabulates the costs of the pills Jack has taken. She'll deduct them from her bank account. Not that it matters. Jack talks about credits but Miranda suspects that in the end they don't matter very much to her.

"I've got real problems." Jack goes on still not turning to look at her. "You think you've had it rough but you haven't. You were engineered to be perfect." She laughs caustically. "Your biggest problem was stress from Daddy to do better." That isn't true. What's the point of saying it? "I was tortured for years all so that I could kill better, so I could like it. The fucked up thing is that I do like it. I don't know how to stop liking it." She holds a pill bottle, looking at the label for a good length of time. "You may be a bitch but at least you can look normal. Act normal."

"It wasn't easy for me," Miranda hates that she's said it. She could compare their records. On paper it isn't the same. On paper, Jack was the one to suffer. It doesn't matter that neither of them really had a mother. Miranda can never confide in anyone. Her complaint borders on ludicrous. No one will ever understand her. Least of all Jack. She complains of the burdens of perfection. Jack laments that she was conditioned to enjoy killing.

"Whatever. Not my problem. Just don't come around expecting to chat. Soon as this mission is done I'm outta here. Maybe I'll take your head on a pike with me. Bit old fashioned but it'd do the trick."

Would she? Miranda is no longer so sure. She goes to Jack and grabs the syringes from where they rest on a medical tray. Jack looks at her furiously. "This is a violation of protocol. As a superior officer it's my duty to intervene."

"Fuck protocol. I don't work for you or Cerberus." Her chest falls and rises quickly, eyes hatefully set on Miranda. Her eyes plead for Miranda to let her have them but she says: "I could just take them from you."

"Try it. You'll be out an airlock before you can get to the facility that bred you." Miranda winces inwardly at the words. She has always been direct. She has never regretted it. She may now. Jack's eyes glisten but Miranda doesn't know the reason. It could be any medication she's already taken though it's unlikely it could affect her so quickly. Then again, Miranda doesn't know how long she's been looting their supplies, the dosage levels she's been taking or Jack's resistance to the various drugs. The most likely explanation for her eyes is that she's enraged at having her time at Pragia made light of. The comment was inappropriate but that's fitting for Jack, isn't it? Is there anything appropriate about the woman? "Why do you need these?" Miranda asks, holding the syringes up to her.

"I don't need them," Jack says through clenched teeth, "I don't fucking need anything." She throws over the medical cart, metal trays and medicines falling to the ground, vials shattering before she exits.

Miranda blinks and looks after her. The small and nearly humorous antiquated representation of EDI presents herself. "It's nothing. A minor accident." Miranda says. She clears the mess and returns to her office to work. She will not file a report on the incident.

She checks on Oriana, lingering on the details.

On a whim she pulls up Jack's records and skims what is already familiar. She had, as a matter of caution, taken hold of the PDAs that Jack had and discreetly removed some of the more dangerous elements that she knew Jack would not properly understand. Since then, however, she has begun to do some research of her own in the little time that she has available. She is sure that the Illusive Man has told her the truth but to make her point more succinctly it would be best if she had all the information. The incident with Niket has proven that no one can be fully trusted. For a moment she considers him before sweeping him aside. He is just another loose end that has been taken care of. She peruses the records and finds nothing too damning. She probes further, rummaging through the various folders and records until she finds one that wasn't there before: Teltin Facility—Pragia. Miranda clicks on the folder.

UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS

The words flash red at her on the screen. Miranda's forehead crinkles in agitation. There aren't supposed to be any blocks on her end. There must be a mistake. She enters her override password, a clean password without any sentimental value; she has little to be sentimental about.

ACCESS DENIED

She furrows her eyebrows. "Strange…" She taps a finger on her desk before making herself stop. "EDI." The AI reports. "The Teltin Facility—Pragia folder is inaccessible. I am to have full access."

"A block was placed for that file several weeks ago by the Illusive Man. I am unable to remove the block without prior authorization."

Miranda knows better than to argue with EDI on whom to follow orders from. She dismisses her and stands, walking slowly back and forth next to her desk. Why would the Illusive Man place a block on Jack's files? It's one thing for Jack not to be able to see them, but for her… What's in them that he doesn't want her to see? Jack can't be right about Cerberus.

She isn't.

Forty-five minutes later she writes a message to Shepard.

_It may be imperative to go to Pragia as soon as possible. Jack's mental state is quickly deteriorating. Delaying action any further could have great repercussions for her state of mind and our mission. I'll make all the necessary preparations. We'll be ready to go once we have your go ahead._

She sends the message and massages her forehead. She has a headache.

* * *

Jack doesn't see Zaeed often but she doesn't mind when the old bastard comes down to play cards and shoot the shit. They sit lazily on the floor, creating a space between them where they throw down cards. Usually she takes a hit on credits when they play a game. She doesn't mind cheating but there's no point with Zaeed. He'd catch on to her. She can take him out, easy, but not before he got in a few good hits. Anyway, she likes him. He's got more killing stories than she does. Talks about his guns like they were his girlfriends. She won't say they're friends but if she knew how to have those, he's not the type she would mind.

"Normally I'd kill a man for cleaning me out," Zaeed says shaking his head at the miserable lot of cards in front of him. "But Shepard probably wouldn't like it if I took out her biotic bitch."

Jack grins vengefully and looks at her omni-tool, making sure Zaeed transfers every credit she's owed. "Try it, old man." This is this only the fifth hand they've played but Jack has come out on top. Maybe she learned something from the poker games she played on the extranet. Fucking assholes, booting her from the forums.

"Not at range this close," he deals out another hand of the weathered cards, faded and soft at the edges. "But if I had my baby Jessie you wouldn't have a head to bang against the walls with. I miss that girl," he says ruefully and examines his cards.

"She sounds like a beast."

"Nothing you kids could handle. You're all spoiled by sleek guns that never jam. Sometimes I had a real love hate relationship with Jessie but that's the best kind of relationship to have, that give and take. No fun if there isn't a challenge. She screwed me a few times and sometimes I traded her out for another gun, thought I didn't need her, but in the end I could never stay away."

"Whatever you say, old man," Jack throws down a card. Her cheek aches and she isn't sure why. Some seconds later she realizes she's smiling. Weird. She's flustered. Zaeed takes the opportunity to throw down a winning hand.

"I'll be taking those credits back," he says. "You're distracted, Girl."

"Yeah, maybe." She begins to transfer the credits back to him. In the middle of it, Shepard comes down to tell her they're hitting Pragia. Jack watches the credits disappear from her bank account but can't make it matter. She looks back distractedly at Zaeed. She knows what Santiago did to his face, to his fucking skull. Must be cybernetics that kept his head together, gave him his sight. "How'd it feel to take that fuck Vido out?"

"Bloody great. Been sleeping like a baby. He's sleeping better." He laughs.

Jack allows herself to entertain the idea of hope. Maybe it'll be easy. Maybe once it's gone, it will all go away.

* * *

Miranda has synched her omni-tool to tune into the frequency of her squad mates life signs and medical history. The information is useful in a pinch and on the battlefield where life or death medical decisions must be made quickly. It's not as helpful as it could be given that the team she works with tends to be on the unconventional side; they aren't in the habit of keeping up-to-date medical histories and trying to get them onboard of Cerberus is worse than pulling teeth, but it is better than nothing. Outside of that, it's useful for procuring information. Miranda has a knack for reading people but a little insurance is always appreciated. Heart rate, stress markers and so on are other good indicators of when someone is lying or hiding something. Most of her work is done outside of battle. Today is likely to be another of those days but she likes to be prepared for all possibilities.

The three of them sit in the shuttle in the darkness with only Miranda's amp providing light as she works. Shepard is next to Jack, reclining effortlessly against the uncomfortable seats as if they were only on their way to a nearby docking station. Fat rain drops pelt against the shuttle window, sliding diagonally.

The biotic amp reveals that Jack's heartbeat is elevated. She's pale and shaking. Her skin glistens with cold sweat, her muscles tense. She is stretched too thin. Her eyes are on the metal floor, curled fists resting tensely on her knees.  _Relax._ Miranda doesn't voice the word but needlessly wants to. She returns to her omni-tool but not before looking over to Jack who tightens her jaw and looks out the window. No matter how angry she might be at her (isn't she always angry at everybody) nerves are taking over. It's fortunate that their destination is an abandoned facility. Miranda wouldn't trust anyone under so much duress at her back during a fight.

* * *

Jack can't get warm. She huddles over, sucking air in through her teeth. It slithers inside her like a snake, weaving in and out of her rib cage. Feels too empty, too cold. She brushes the sweat from her brow with the back of her arm. Miranda's looking at her. She's the only light in the shuttle. The omni-tool illuminates Miranda's face in gold color, making her look uncharacteristically soft.

Jack forces her gaze to the window. Pragia is a jungle planet. Dense trees and overgrown vines encase it like a nervous system. She's been to other planets that are hotter, places like fucking Logasiri that are just as humid but she never experienced Pragia personally. Not for too long. Except for her mad dash to the shuttle when she'd escaped. That didn't matter. Her childhood was a fucking Cerberus facility. The only heat she remembers is that of blood of other kids on her fists, tiny and round, unscarred and innocent that would later go green and purple with bruises. There was other heat: the lamp burning on her face, sterile knives slicing into her during operations, wires biting into her flesh, the flush of drugs, the uncomfortable metal chair that clamped her wrists and ankles down.

Other stuff.

Jack pukes. It splashes on her hand, having realized too late what was going to happen. The bitter acidic taste fills her mouth and nose. She coughs, flinging the vomit from her fingers, wiping it off on her pants. Miranda doesn't react. Shepard looks at her. "Get a hold of yourself." The gruffness in her voice dampens. "It's an empty facility."

"I know that," Jack snaps shakily. She rubs at her forehead with curled fingers before scratching at it with her stubby nails. "Maybe this was a mistake." She says under her breath to herself. EDI comes online to tell them about heat signatures, stupid shit that doesn't matter. She exchanges some words with Miranda but all Jack can see is the helicopter landing pad getting closer. The last time she'd seen it she was sprinting, running so hard her knuckles grazed the metal ground. "It was a mistake coming back here, Shepard." They're beginning their descent. The shuttle slows and sinks. Everything outside the window is getting bigger. Everything is becoming realer. No more hiding. No more running. She takes deep breaths, tries, but she's verging on hyperventilating.

Shepard plants a hand on Jack's leg. Jack doesn't look at it. "No point in going back now. We're here." Shepard says. "We'll do what we have to and get out."

"Yeah. Okay." She takes a gulp of breath wanting to drown all the shit that's starting up in her head. What is that thing, digging its way out...? Fear. She's fucking scared. She keeps killing it but it won't stay dead. Everything from the facility is trickling back. Things she hasn't known in forever. All the things that helped make her who she is, all the things that made her cry, all the things that still haunt her. Fuck that. She's not scared of anything. She's not going to be beaten by a fucking empty building. Her heart beats at a million miles a minute. Miranda peers with some concern into her omni-tool. The bitch. Probably writing another fucking report for Cerberus. "Let's get on the ground."

The rain is colder than Jack would have expected, penetrating to the core of her. Jack holds her gun, ready to blast anything that could come at them. But what could come at them? It's an empty facility. What's she planning to hunt? Ghosts? She clinches her teeth, refusing to let them clatter. It ends now.

* * *

The Teltin facility in Pragia had proved uncomfortably illuminating for the two of them. Miranda drafts a report for the Illusive Man that she rewrites several times. What the hell happened in that facility? With the help of some workarounds she's been able to read the official reports that are buried in the Cerberus network. Even then they don't tell the entire story. Names have been removed and mass sections edited out. It is suspicious. Perhaps it is only an embarrassing footnote in Cerberus' history. The facility defected and went rogue. Cerberus can't be held accountable for every one of their individuals, even if she holds herself and others of the organization to high standards. Often times to get results you have to do the unthinkable. In the end what was done to Subject Zero was necessary. If they hadn't manipulated her, tortured her… then they'd have one less powerful ally to stop the Collectors. The ends justify the means. Is that wrong? She's a precious commodity for their mission. Just as Miranda was one for her father.  _Damn it._

She reclines in her chair, unsure. She thinks of Oriana and the lengths that she's gone to keep her safe. Admittedly what her father would do to her isn't as bad as what was done to Jack. But Oriana isn't a biotic. If she were…? Would Miranda be so cavalier about her treatment?

The doors to her office open and Jack strides in. Miranda hadn't expected her. She saves the reports she's working on, closes it and rises unnecessarily. Jack isn't a superior officer but she is full of resolve. "Jack." She waits a beat. "What can I do for you?"

Jack paces for a minute, her fingers rolling and unrolling, running a hand through her cropped hair before stopping. "Maybe I didn't have it all right." She's still defensive. Miranda recalls Jack in the facility, questioning every revelation, her confidence broken a piece at a time. "Maybe I wasn't…" she looks to Miranda and then away. Shakes her head, crosses her arms. "Maybe I wasn't the only one to suffer. That Aresh guy…"

Miranda thinks of Aresh, a man aged prematurely by his experiences. Another sociopath and casualty of the experiments. How many children died at Teltin? She doesn't know. There is a lock on that data. She'll try to find yet another workaround though she knows that the Illusive Man would object to her dedicating her energies to what is officially a dead project.

"Fuck," Jack sweeps an arm through the air and a stack of books on Miranda's desk fly to the floor. "None of it was what I thought it was. And that guy— how many kids died there to make me, me?"

"I don't know."

"You're lying."

Miranda retrieves the stack of books that Jack knocked to the ground, lining them up perfectly just the way that she'd had them. "I'm not."

"It's all fucked up. How can you work for them? How can you be proud of Cerberus? Don't you see how many lives they destroyed? How many kids they killed, all those things they did to me," she slams a hand down on the desk. "You can't deny it anymore, Cheerleader! You saw what they did! They had a morgue! You may not give a shit about me but is it really for the benefit of humanity to take poor kids and subject them to hell for what? For this!" She sends out another wave of biotic power, knocking the books that Miranda has just replaced on the desk back on the floor.

Miranda watches them blow past her. "Think what you will of Cerberus but you wouldn't be who you are now if it weren't for that facility. The Illusive Man had no knowledge—"

"Bullshit!"

"Of what happened there nor would the organization ever condone or fund such immoral experiments."

"What do you know about morals?" Jack spits.

"A good deal." Miranda picks up the books again and sets them on their sides, not bothering to arrange them again in case Jack has another outpouring of biotic rage. "But I'm wise enough to know that allowing morals to interfere with science would leave humanity at a great disadvantage. Cerberus isn't made up of saints. It's made up of people who will get the job done. We have to reach the pinnacle of our potential—it would be a disservice not to. If a few people have to suffer for our race to advance then so be it. Sacrifices are the cost of all progress."

"As long as those sacrifices are poor fucks no one gives a shit about. You're just a stupid Cerberus bitch after all. I was an idiot for thinking you might be different. I'm fucking outta here."

"You're an important part of this mission." Is she backtracking? She doesn't do that. No. She's only trying to simplify the situation for Jack. Jack has never seen the bigger picture. "If what happened to you hadn't we wouldn't—"

Jack rears on her. "So that makes it all right? That makes it worth it?"

"Yes." She can't lie. "The lives of the human race are at stake. What happened to you was…inappropriate. I won't say that Cerberus did it. We didn't. But we need you. We need you exactly as you are." Just as they'd needed to bring Shepard back exactly as she was, no changes. "You wouldn't have your powers, we wouldn't have a chance if it wasn't for that."

"You'd have it all happen the same way again."

"Yes." The flare of hurt in Jack's eyes is evident. Miranda is surprised and doesn't react. Then she reaches for her. Jack recoils violently. Jack is too emotional. She doesn't understand that they need every resource no matter what mean was used to temper it. They have Jack now. They know what she's capable of. If Cerberus were to think of launching into such extreme experiments now with only theoretical results she would disagree but Miranda has seen the payoff. "Will you just listen?"

Jack lifts the office chair and flings it at her. "Touch me and I will smear the walls with you, bitch!"

It's ironic that Jack can't appreciate that she's complaining about the very powers she's using to try to murder her. Miranda sidesteps just in time to see Commander Shepard walk in. The chair falls with a thud to the ground. Lovely. She hadn't wanted for Shepard to get involved in any of this. She'll have to speak with Joker later about interfering in her private affairs. His leash is too long. It's time someone reined it in. But that's for another time. Shepard is demanding explanations.

* * *

Fucking assholes. What did she expect? Maybe she's just as dumb of a bitch as Miranda is to think that Shepard wouldn't sell her out. Everyone loves to kiss the Cheerleader's ass. Whatever. She'll tear them both apart as soon as the mission is done if they think of getting in her way. Besides, they're not the ones that really matter.

_It wasn't Cerberus. Not really. But clearly you were a mistake._

The words keep creeping into her head, the superior way Miranda had said them. She shakes thinking of her. She should have snapped her neck the first night in engineering. Maybe then… No. What the fuck. That isn't what's important now.

It's been days but she keeps thinking about it. She's still trying to clear out all the shit that happened in Teltin. It's just a crater now. Not worth thinking about. And the only other survivor is Aresh. Fuck. She should've killed him. What if he tries to do something else somewhere else? The guy is crazy… crazy as she is. Maybe because… Fuck.

She's happy that the Teltin facility is gone. She can stop going back there. She won't become that fuckhead Aresh. But now everything else is up in the air. They'd been trying to make  _her_ perfect. Like the goddamn Cheerleader. Different methods but the same goal. Except she's like her fucked up shadow. The Cheerleader is meant to save humanity. Jack's meant to destroy everything else. That isn't what Shepard or the others would say but why else would those Cerberus assholes do that shit to her?

How many kids died because of her? How many kids did she kill thinking they hated her? Not that she blames the poor fucks for wanting her dead. That hadn't made sense at the time. She'd killed them. Hated it at first, then after a while took satisfaction in it. They hurt her by ignoring her; she hurt them in the arena. They took her pride, she took her lives. How old was she when she started thinking like that? She wasn't even in the double digits yet. All this time she'd thought she was so fucking tough but if it wasn't for all those little kids who had to die so she could be stronger… "Fuck it," she says. Fuck what? What's she going to do about it?

She's still uneasy. Killing, meds, drugs, those are the only quick fixes to everything. She wishes she could kill Miranda and Shepard. She hates what they do to her head. Maybe afterward, she's not sure yet. See how she's feeling about it. She'd have asked Shepard to join her on a new piracy career but fuck that bitch.

Speaking of which… "I got nothing to say. Why don't you go talk to Miranda?" Fuck Shepard. She'd helped her and taken her to Teltin. That was cool. She'd made her think that maybe she was more than some fucked up killer for a millisecond, told her she was better than that shit Aresh. Told her to let him go. But when it came down to it, she fucking sold her out to Miranda.

Shepard does a little song and dance about how they need Miranda's contacts and her network. Makes it seem like Miranda's got no other uses. Makes sense. So Shepard had just lied her ass off to Miranda to get what she wanted. She likes that. "You could have just said so," Jack says. "That shit really pissed me off. Don't do it again." She looks to Shepard's face. Her cheeks are in rough shape, the skin separating and glowing red in the darkness. Her forehead doesn't look much better. Jack doesn't know why she doesn't just get herself stitched up. Maybe she likes looking like a bad ass. Her eyes stare eerily at Jack though her smile is welcoming, charming in its own asshole way. Jack looks off before feeling Shepard's gaze on her and looking back at the woman. "We've already talked. What do you want?"

Shepard walks closer becoming more than a color in the dim lighting and a disembodied voice. Jack stands up and creates some distance. Shepard chuckles. "Why do you keep looking at my face?"

Jack's seen a lot of fucked up shit in her day. All kinds of ugly, all kinds of weird aliens, guys who look like mutations, people who aren't whole anymore, scarred and missing pieces of them. Shepard isn't missing anything. Except maybe a piece of humanity. Maybe that's what happens when you're brought back from the dead.  _Maybe that's the reason I look the way I do._ Doesn't have shit to do with the haircut or the ink. "You look like a monster." Jack says easily.

"Is that a turn on?"

"Not often I find people who look as fucked up as I do." Jack steps closer and moves around her, circling like a scavenger looking for its next meal, wanting to find the timing, needing to get it just right.

"I may look 'fucked up' but we're not the same." Shepard crosses her arms. "I didn't do this to myself. Hell, most people consider me a goddamn hero. I  _am_ a goddamn hero."

"What are you saying?" Jack asks quickly. What the fuck is Shepard talking about? Cerberus made them both who they are. In a way… maybe they weren't responsible for all of it. _Fuck, just stop thinking about it._

"I think you know." Shepard says. Jack's eyebrows narrow. She looks away. There it is again. She never lets down her guard but people hammer away at her anyway. Every time she forgets for a second what she is someone always rushes in to remind her. She and Shepard have made their own decisions. They're not just products. Shit. What is it with her lately? Sitting around bitching, acting like a pussy. "Relax, Jack. I'm not here to judge. I'm pretty good at reading people. A minute ago you were eager to hop into bed with me. Where'd all that edge go? Am I that intimidating?"

Jack shoves her. Shepard doesn't stumble. "You're a fuck."

"Mh hm," Shepard grabs Jack's chin and pulls her in for a kiss. Their mouths meet voraciously. Jack lets Shepard take point before slamming her against the wall. Shepard laughs. "I knew you wouldn't be boring."

"There's nothing boring about me, Shepard." Jack keeps a hand around Shepard's throat. It's weird how much she hates her right now. Or maybe it's herself she hates. She doesn't know anymore. Things are starting to get fuzzy again.

"Kelly warned me about you. Do you know that you approach sex casually but push others away?" Shepard's imitation of Kelly is spot on, down to the scientific, frank analysis paired with a faux tone of caring. Jack thinks it's funny. "Do you want to talk about your feelings?"

Jack slides her hands beneath Shepard's shirt. She finds the differences without knowing she was looking for them. "What feelings?"

"That's what I said." Shepard tugs the leather suspenders away.

"Kelly's a bitch." She angles her head to the side, giving Shepard access to her neck. Her eyes narrow thoughtfully at the warmth Shepard presses to her skin. Feels good. Can't say she'd ever thought she'd let the Commander have her way with her. "She just wants you for herself."

"Everybody wants to fuck the dead spectre." Shepard says, droll.

Jack grins, letting Shepard trail her lips and tongue along her neck some time further before taking Shepard's face in her hands. "You're  _sick._ " Jack kisses her again. When Shepard lifts her off the floor, Jack wraps her legs around her waist. Shepard carries her to the table. Jack flips them so that she's on top looking down at her breathlessly.

"This is important to you for some reason," Shepard lets Jack yank the clothes from her. "So go ahead and be on top. I get tired of doing all the damn work anyway."

"Shut up." Not here to talk.

Sex: the other drug. They don't say another word.

* * *

Miranda turns off the camera feed to engineering. She is still before lifting the glass she keeps beside her computer terminal. She stands. She collects and deposits a number of ice cubes into her glass then fills it a third of the way with hard liquor. Alcohol doesn't affect her the way that it does other humans. Much higher quantities are needed for her to react to it. Her tolerance is beneficial. She gets more work done and doesn't suffer from hangovers. Others don't know that and think to take advantage or underestimate her. She will use every weapon in her arsenal.

It does make self-medication difficult. Not that she does that. That's a coping mechanism for those who aren't strong enough to find an alternative.

Miranda knows her limitations (or lack thereof) despite not knowing a time in which she's wanted to alter her perceptions. She has studied her own medical records in depth, eager to know what she is, what she was meant to be, what she is capable of. Even after escaping her father, she's never been more than mildly inebriated and never to the point where it's affected her thinking processes or reflexes. She's used to the illusion of perfection and employing the necessary means to achieve it. Her father would disapprove of her wasting her talents on the sophomoric games of common people. He would be furious with her for wanting a taste of normalcy. A sliver of guilt slips into her as she holds the glass in hand. Even now she feels as if she's disappointing him. What could possibly appeal about not being at one hundred percent and clear headed?

She looks back to the blackened monitor screen and touches a hand to her temple as if recalling something but she's recalled nothing. She takes a careful, measured drink. She'll go for a walk around the ship. She ought to get out of the office every now and then. Now would be a fine time; she's at a good stopping point in her work.

* * *

Jack isn't modest. Nothing to be modest about. When you take every shred of pride from a person there's nothing left to lose, nothing to be ashamed of. But this time Jack dresses in quick, haphazard fashion. She goes back to her cot and takes her usual seat. Shepard slides off the table, examining the scratches and bite marks along her. Teach her to think she can push her around. "Thanks, Shepard. Now get lost. We both got what we wanted and we don't actually like each other so let's not waste any more time. You're shit to talk to."

"Since when do you talk to anyone, Jack?" Shepard retrieves her pants and steps into them one step at a time. They're loose, easy enough to remove. Unlike…

"Fuck off." The whole thing had been fucking pointless. It was all right while it lasted. Sometimes sex helps take the edge off but not this time. She feels shittier than before. She's never had the high wear off so quickly. Doesn't make any sense.

"What were you expecting? Cuddling?"

Wasn't expecting anything. People always want to fuck her. See what she is. Think they can figure her out. See what makes her tick. "Didn't want anything from you, Shepard."

"You wanted something. You didn't get it. I helped you out at Pragia. You thanked me. This was fun." Shepard slips the shirt on over her head. Then her voice grows soft and caring. Jack reacts to it the same way she would to screeching, twisting metal. "I can't give you what you need."

"Yeah." It's easier than saying 'I don't need anything'. She just wants Shepard gone. After asking if Jack will be okay (Jack will never understand her fucking 180s) she gets on her way. Jack remains still feeling a pressure mounting inside of her, countdown until detonation. She doesn't move until it's too much and she's filled with it. She jumps to her feet, eyes sharpening, growing wet. Everything's a blur.

She pummels her fist over and over again into the steel wall, denting it. Her grunts of effort are indistinguishable from howls. She pounds the wall until she's depleted and can't manage another hit, breathing hoarsely. She hides her face in her hands before collapsing against the wall and sliding awkwardly to the floor. Her fists pulse with pain, biotics, blood. She's numb and hurt. She always thought she knew what was up, what she wanted but she's not sure anymore. She's drowning in aimless anger. In emptiness. What the hell is the matter with her? She got everything she's ever wanted. She took out every fuck who's ever messed with her. Why isn't she happy? Can she ever be? Would she even know it?

"Happiness is overrated," she mutters.

Maybe once the Collectors are gone she can relax. She can… nothing to move on from. She thinks of Murtock. The only person to ever give a shit about her. He was fun. She wasn't planning on forever. Never knows what day it's just going to end. He'd wanted a lot. A lot for her, from her. Like he expected her to be better just because he thought she was better. But he never gave her shit about it. He just waited. Just…accepted her. Then he went and got himself killed to save her. The dumbass. Like that meant anything. He was stupid. Wasn't going to transform her or anything. That isn't how it works. People don't just change. Can't.

She bites her tongue to keep from crying.

* * *

Miranda arbitrarily switches the grainy camera feed back on. Jack is on the floor with her head in her hands, huddled into herself. Miranda reaches a hand to the picture before jerking it away at the last moment and turning the monitor off.

She should get some sleep. She lies in bed for hours before abandoning the notion. She picks up a novel but can't read more than a sentence before her mind drifts to other matters. Jack. Other matters. Work.

She gets up and works but she doesn't bother changing out of her robe. There is one advantage to working so late in the night and having the office in her quarters. There's never a short supply of work to be done and it's to her advantage to push ahead. A crisis could rear its head at any moment leaving her with a seemingly infinite amount to wade through.

Every time she thinks of Jack she sends out five emails. Two hours later she's sent out a great deal of them but at least has gotten a substantial amount of work done. Her alarm goes off in the other room (not that she needs it, her body has provided the greatest, most accurate clock that she has known) and she stands from her chair, switches the alarm off, showers and gets ready for the day. She's rarely tired but makes it to the small mess hall (fittingly located next to the medical bay) to grab a cup of coffee. The technology of the Normandy SR-2 is top of the line. It's unfortunate the same can't be said of the food or the coffee. Miranda sips on her coffee bitterly, thinking of the finer delicacies available on Illium. Maybe a budget could be drafted so the crew (or at least she) can reap the benefits of a finer meal. She doesn't trust Gardner to provide them.

Shepard brushes past her and Miranda stiffens at the touch before forcing her muscles to relax. The commander is grabbing a cup of coffee, pouring the liquid into a mug in a showy fashion. Shepard doesn't do anything by the book. She throws the rulebook out the proverbial window and gets results because of it but Miranda won't forget her many transgressions just because she's good at her job.

_Yes, you will because she's doing her job and she's doing it well._ That can be questioned. Miranda dismisses the thoughts. They're catty and it's only the unfamiliar fatigue dogging her that is making her question Shepard.

"Oh boy. What'd I do now?" Shepard asks. She takes a drink of the coffee, makes a face and takes another gulp. "Are you going to keep clanking that spoon in your coffee?" she nods at the spoon Miranda holds. Miranda stops stirring, not having realized she was doing it. "Out with it."

"Fraternization is strongly discouraged between the leading officer and the crew." It's discouraged between all crew members, actually. It's scarce for anyone to follow the rule and even the most ardent advocates soon give up after spending months in space without shore leave. Her own record has been immaculate. She follows the rules. Except… for the last two times. They don't count, really. Her work has been unaffected (if anything, she's been more productive) and the encounters were nothing but a series of one night stands. If there is no emotional involvement, there is, in turn, no issue.

"Ah. You've been spying on me."

"Since day one, Shepard. You know that. Cerberus outfitted the Normandy with the latest technology. All at my disposal. I answer directly to the Illusive Man. As such, I'm expected to have answers. You may make the decisions but it doesn't mean I won't keep an eye on things." When Shepard continues to stare at her Miranda sets her cup down. "Subject Zero is emotionally volatile. You don't want to do anything to endanger her state of mind."

Shepard sighs. "It's too early in the morning for this." She pours more coffee. "Everything you just said now… Is that Miranda speak for being jealous?"

What? No. "Don't be ridiculous." She's fired the words off before she realizes that Shepard had been joking.

Shepard arches an eyebrow delicately and pours herself another cup of coffee. "Don't waste my time. Jack's ready. When we're up against the Collectors I know she's going to clean house. Maybe I should be concerned about you. I came onboard to this operation once I had your word you'd follow orders."

"I said I'd follow orders, Shepard. I never said I wouldn't question you."

"Don't question me. That's an order. You're second-in-command. Start acting like it. Is that understood?"

Miranda speaks through clenched teeth. "Yes, Commander." She flushes with shame. The Commander is right, of course. They're both adults free to make their own decisions. It's not her place to interfere, despite wanting for the mission to succeed. Shepard has proved herself. Jack has too.

"Good." Shepard shakes her head. "If you want to apologize to her, it's as easy as 'I'm sorry'."

"With all due respect, you weren't brought back to dispense advice on interpersonal relationships. I have work to do, Commander," she bows her head to her and returns to the office. She won't apologize to Jack. There's nothing to apologize for. It's only unfortunate that Jack can't overlook her dreadful history to focus on the greater good.

Admitting what happened to Jack was wrong would suggest that Cerberus is the terrorist group others claim they are. As a high ranking official it's unthinkable to state such a thing. She will not question the organization she believes in ardently for Jack. Doing so would send moral quandaries rippling throughout the accomplishments of the agency, that despite its many discreditors, has done more for humanity than any other human interest group.

Maybe she is a bitch. It'd never mattered who thought it before. It still doesn't but now it's creating complications. It's her job to state unpopular opinions but no one ever sees that. Making nice won't get anyone anywhere. If it were up to the Council and the Alliance they'd propose drawing up a peace treaty to offer to the Collectors. She won't delude herself into thinking that anything besides war will stop them.

Miranda reads the collection of news feeds that have come in since she went to get coffee and sighs. Maybe she will apologize to her. She begins to stand before sitting again. There's still work to do. Later. She'll apologize to her later.

* * *

The bandages are snug around her rib cage making it hard to breathe. It could be that she's not used to wearing a shirt anymore. Or maybe it's the cracked ribs she suffered on the last mission. The Collector ship had been fucked up. She doesn't know how they'd gotten out of there. Those Collector bastards and that chatty fucking stalker Harbinger just kept coming. So that's what they're up against. All those weird cockroaches planning to take out humanity. Shit, they've got the room to do it. But she's not going to let that happen. She's not into being a hero or anything like that. Who gives a fuck about other people? But she's not going to be taken out by those ugly assholes. Still… whatever it is they're doing to people, she wants to make sure they don't keep doing it.

Chakwas told her to get rest so she'll get rest. She hadn't dispensed any medication, citing the amount needed to dull the pain coupled with Jack's tolerance for drugs and known abusive tendencies would not be wise. She'd given her an injection with a needle as long as her forearm and sent her on her way. Far as Jack can tell, it hasn't done shit aside from make her sleepy. She's drowsing in and out when she hears Miranda's voice, directly in front of the table across from the cot.

"Nice work on that Collector ship."

She thinks about pretending to be asleep but doesn't bother. "Yeah, feels good to earn my keep. Your Illusive Man laid out a pretty nasty trap. I don't get you. Are you fucking that guy? Why are you always defending him?" Jack turns on her side to face the wall and a burst of pain flares in her ribs. She bites on her lip to keep from making a sound. The Illusive Man sold them out. Big fucking surprise. She doubts the Cheerleader cares. Shepard was pissed; it reassured Jack. She's starting to come around to her. "EDI took all the data or whatever so if you're here for some report intel you can get it from her." She and Miranda haven't talked in the weeks since Pragia. No reason to start now.

"I'm not here for a report." Miranda says. Jack yawns into her hand loudly and hopes that Miranda will get the message. She doesn't. "Everything is rushing to a head. I don't know how much time we have left anymore." Jack rolls onto her back and turns her head to look at her. "So I'll get straight to it. I'd like it noted that I'm speaking on behalf of myself and not Cerberus but… I apologize if you were offended by my words the last time we spoke."

Jack laughs dryly and winces, her ribs reminding her of her injury. She drapes an arm along her forehead and takes in slow breaths to fill her lungs tentatively. "Don't apologize often, do you, Cheerleader? Your apologies could use some work."

"Chakwas mentioned you sustained some injuries."

"Nothing that hasn't been done worse before." She pauses, smiles sardonically. "Thanks for the concern, Cheerleader." Miranda's eyes stray elsewhere. "This was you, could you brush it off? You've got the mods, right? Superhuman or some shit? Super human. Right. Shepard's the superhuman."

"I can't argue with that."

"You want to?" Jack sits up with some effort. It wasn't an invitation but Miranda moves to take a seat next to her.

"No. Shepard's impressive in just about every way. She's got something that many don't have. Something I obviously don't." Her smile becomes bittersweet. "It was the right decision for Cerberus to bring her back. Even you can't dispute that."

Jack scoffs and plays with a frayed string on her pants. They're pretty banged up from the Collector ship. She'll get some new ones eventually but it isn't on her priority list. "Don't compare us to Shepard. And don't fucking act like what was done to either one of us is the same damn thing as bringing her back. Shepard didn't turn out the way she did because of fucked up experiments and modifications. She didn't go through the years of bullshit we did so we could be fucking useful to someone who'd pay for our 'talents'. She was valuable before that." Miranda's quiet. "She's not the fuckup we are. I was made to kill. You were made to be perfect but you aren't, even with all those mods. Tough life. Face it, Cheerleader: beneath that gleaming sterile shine of yours, you're just another fuck up like me. I'm just more honest about it."

"I am advanced. No use hiding it. I'm not sure that I could if I tried." Miranda's so fucking earnest that Jack has to roll her eyes. "But I never claimed to be perfect."

"Good, cause you aren't. Could've told you that from the beginning."

"That isn't to say that I didn't try. I did, often. I always fell short. Never by much, though my father wouldn't agree." Miranda crosses one leg over another and leans into the wall. She looks out of place. That classy sort of elegance doesn't belong in the hole of engineering. "But I imagine this is coming across to you as more of that 'poor little rich girl' bit. That isn't why I came down here."

"Why  _are_ you here?"

"To apologize. I said so, didn't I?" Miranda looks at her when Jack huffs. Jack pulls her legs onto the cot, stretches her neck, hears the bones pop. "Clearly you're dissatisfied."

"It wasn't an apology, asshole. Don't bother. You really don't give a shit either way so why don't I take my space back and you can get back to blowing the Illusive Man. People like me don't get apologies. I know that."

"People like you?"

Jack stays silent. Fuck the Cheerleader. She doesn't owe her answers. "You know." Jack says blankly. Her eyes don't focus on anything. She can't say the word 'monster' in front of the Cheerleader. If Miranda made a joke about it she'd have to kill her. Or… or who knows how she'd react really. She wonders what was really in that shot that Chakwas gave her. She's not used to being so fucking chatty. "Just get out of here."

"I'm not finished." She brings a hand tentatively to Jack's knee. Jack tenses but she doesn't look at her, doesn't speak, doesn't notice right away that she hasn't taken a breath. "Look. Apologies are clearly not my strong point. They're typically the result of mistakes and I'm very good at my job. I don't have anything outside of work, really, so I have to be good. If I weren't, the Illusive Man wouldn't have picked me to lead the Lazarus Project and be Shepard's second in command. I can only count a handful of times when I've had to apologize. Unless you're talking about my father—those apologies are endless. Eventually he got tired of hearing them and our interactions were limited to reports sent to him by other scientists. Sometimes he'd have me write them personally, find the mistakes and return them, but even those stopped when he saw I wasn't worth the effort. It didn't stop him from having hopes for me. He'd spent a lot of money. When there was a new procedure available, I always had to be the first in line to have it. And he'd be excited, after he'd found out I'd survived whatever operation. He always waited until I was fully healed to visit me. But the results were never good enough. I always disappointed him. Ironically, I spent a lot of time feeling worthless. Then I found out about Oriana and… I knew what would happen. To the both of us. I suppose I shouldn't complain. All my genetic modifications did get the attention of the Illusive Man. I doubt he would have hired me on faith alone."

Jack nearly asks where the apology is. But she gets lost in all that other mess that Miranda's rattled off. Miranda's weird. She can talk about that shit in such a detached way. The only indication that it's at all upsetting to her is in her word choice, a tiny, nearly unreadable current of emotion in her voice and the tightening of her hand on Jack's knee. Her face doesn't show any of it. So Miranda's just like her in a way. No one would give a shit if it weren't for all the extras. "Sounds shitty."

"It was." She smiles palely. "Thanks for saying so. It's strange. There was a time when I might have suggested someone like you wasn't owed any apologies. I've always been accused of being condescending. Maybe that's true..." she falters then shakes her head. "I was wrong when I said you were a mistake. I'm sorry I said it. You aren't a mistake—but what was done to you was." Her fingers tighten gently before her hand slides along Jack's leg and falls back beside her. She rests her arms along her own legs in the same nonchalant manner as before. "If there is a monster in this scenario it isn't you." She sighs softly. "This is complicated. I'm used to having a plan for every situation. I never had one prepared for you."

Jack doesn't know what the hell she's talking about. Can't believe she apologized like she actually meant it. Not sure if she buys it—no, she does buy it. If she didn't she'd have kicked her ass out already. "My plans tend to involve killing everything in sight. Doesn't work so much anymore. I'll save it for the Collectors." Jack doesn't want to think about whatever it is that Miranda meant.

"How are you?" Miranda asks.

Jack looks at her stupidly. Nobody ever asks her that. She's so inexperienced with the question that she doesn't know she can give a default, generic response if she wanted to. Hasn't figured out that sometimes people don't care to hear the response. She dumbly asks what the fuck Miranda's talking about. Miranda clarifies, asking if there's been any closure surrounding the Teltin facility. Jack shrugs. "Every time I think I've solved it all there's something else left that's… Maybe I should've killed that guy Aresh. Maybe that would have been… I dunno… nicer? If it weren't for that guy though, where would I be?" So much for thinking she got out because she was tough shit. She got out because she was fucking pampered at the expense of everyone else. Goddamn it. "It's better now. I'm glad that place is gone. It helps. But all that shit inside my head is still there."

"Give it time. Maybe those feelings will change."

"Have they changed for you?" Jack only gets another elusive smile from Miranda. "Time. I guess we might all be dead soon anyway."

"Maybe. I'm not planning on that. If I've done my job, no one will die."

Jack turns to her sharply. "It's not all on you, Cheerleader. Shepard's running the show." Jack notices how Miranda's eyes wander at the mention of the Commander. "You can't take responsibility for everything that might happen."

"That's my job."

"Then cut yourself some fucking slack. Be more than your job and your 'enhancements'." Is she actually having this conversation? "We all have jobs here. It's up to all of us if we want to get out of this mess. Shit. Why are we sitting here talking?"

"Why not?"

"It's weird."

"Maybe I should get back to work."

"Yeah, maybe." Jack slaps a hand down next to her only to have it hit Miranda's. Jack looks down, curls her fingers and makes the conscious decision to withdraw them. She stares at her tattooed hand, scribbled on the digits. Miranda's own hand, flawless and without a mark. Jack doesn't realize she's frowning. She looks up, forgetting to pull her hand back.

Miranda kisses her soft on the lips. Jack goes rigid. The kiss is unexpected. She should hit her. But her cheeks go warm. She doesn't respond, or doesn't think she does but her lips part. It's like their first night in engineering, it looks exactly the same but it's something else. It's too soft, too new, too easy to break. It freaks her out but she doesn't know how to stop it. There's coughing on the intercom. Miranda pulls away. Jack is left freefalling. Her heart beats too quickly. She's breathless. This is bullshit.

"Uh." Joker's voice. "Miranda, the commander would like to see you at the bridge. But uh, if you need to finish up, no rush. Take your time."

Miranda swears. "I'm on my way."

Jack wonders if that fuck was spying. Everything she's heard on him tells he spends a lot of free time on freaky extranet sites. Why's he always jumping into their business? Miranda's leaving when Jack calls out to her. "Is this another one of your games, Cheerleader? What are you doing?" Why is she always asking her that?

Miranda slows her steps, crooks her head to the side but doesn't turn. "Good question. I don't know. Making a fool of myself, it would seem." She touches the wall, finds the dent in it that Jack had beat in. Their muscles go taut. Miranda talks to the wall. "I don't typically let myself get carried away like that. It isn't a game." She takes a breath. "Shepard's waiting." She starts to go.

Jack listens to the retreating footsteps, climbing slowly before she stands painfully and goes to the foot of the stairs to look up at her. "Miranda." The Cheerleader waits, an eyebrow cocked questioningly. "I'll see you later."

Miranda narrows her eyes on Jack, trying to see her more clearly. Maybe she only squints because of the darkness. "Of course. Until next time, Jack."

 


End file.
